


Purity Redux: Metempsychosis

by Sueric



Series: Purity [15]
Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Completed, F/M, Fluff, Hentai, Intrigue, Major Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Original Universe, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:03:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 89
Words: 318,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11581437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sueric/pseuds/Sueric
Summary: How does one learn to live when one's life has been destroyed? With love, patience, and ... Kells ...?





	1. Routine

: _March 13, 2077_ :

~ ** _o_** ~

 

He awoke with a start, grimacing when the tiny foot came dangerously close to nailing him in the balls and opened his eyes as he reached over to push the miscreant child over onto the other side of the bed.  "Coulda sworn I put you in your own bed last night," he muttered, rolling over and pulling up the blankets as his eyes drifted closed again.

' _Six a.m.?  Ugh . . ._ '

And just like clockwork, the little dictator slowly came to life.

It started with a slow rumble as the mattress gave way under him—as he performed his customary couple of rolls before deciding that, since _he_ was awake, everyone else might as well be, too.  Very definitive thuds that echoed out around him like shockwaves as he got to his feet—never mind that he'd been told a number of times that a bed was not somewhere to stand . . . And then . . .

"Daddy, you 'wake?"

He had two options.  He could ignore the little tyrant and pretend that he was still asleep, and considering he'd been up well into the wee hours of the morning last night, he rather liked that idea.

Too bad the tiny czar would never, ever go for it.

The second option?

Rolling over as fast as he could, he grabbed the two-year-old brat and proceeded to tickle him soundly, as the harsh squeals and manic laughter filled the silence that was now nothing but a memory until later tonight when he'd finally corral the child into his own bed, which, if he thought about it, was a kind of pointless thing to do.  After all, Napoleon, Junior would be back in this bed long before dawn tomorrow, just like he was every night, kicking him in the nuts, farting in his face, or otherwise being a general menace.

"It's only six in the morning," he pointed out, arching an eyebrow at the rambunctious toddler.  "Go back to sleep."

"But I'm not tired!"

Ashur Philips—formerly Kyouhei Muira—heaved a long-suffering sigh as he dragged a long-fingered hand through his golden brown hair and grimaced when he hit a particularly bad tangle.  "Yeah, but I am," he pointed out reasonably, forgetting for the moment that one really couldn't reason with a two-year-old terror.

"You promised!" the cub whined.  "Today is Sunday!  You promised the zoo on Sunday!"

"Kells, you _are_ the zoo—a walking, talking zoo that never, ever shuts up," he grumbled, grabbing the child around the waist and forcing him to lay back down again.  "And the zoo isn't open at six in the morning, anyway."

"Then we can get pancakes?" Kells asked hopefully, wiggling out of Ashur's hold and squirming into a kneeling position, which might have been all right. And then he started to bounce.  "We can get the pancakes wif Emmy an' Nadi!" he hollered, clapping his hands as he bounced harder.

"Emmy and Nadi hate you," Ashur muttered, trying in vain to bury his face into his pillow once more.

Kells giggled and changed tactics, trying instead to burrow right into Ashur's chest—and jacking him in the jaw with the top of his head in the process.  "Snuggles, Daddy," he demanded.

Ashur sighed.  Just what the hell could he do with that, anyway?  As far as he was concerned, that was an entirely unfair tactic, completely underhanded.  Too bad it worked.  It always worked . . . So, he wrapped his arms around the child and held him close while Kells actually let him, at least, for a moment.

"My snuggles is full," Kells announced suddenly, hopping off the bed and bouncing on the balls of his feet like a youkai pogo-stick.  "I _sta-a-a-a-arving!_   I need Miss Eddie's _cakes!_ "

Rolling his eyes at the child's histrionics, Ashur tossed the blankets aside and dragged himself off the bed.  "You realize that your uncle isn't going to think it's cute when we show up before the crack of dawn because _you_ want pancakes," he remarked.

Kells clapped his chubby little hands and ran into the bathroom to wait for the next adventure: their morning shower.

Heaving a sigh, Ashur stepped over to the long window and pulled the cord to retract the blinds as he scratched the back of his neck.  One day, he'd get to sleep in again.  It was just looking like it wouldn't be until Kells was an emo-teenager that wanted to hide in his room all day . . .

"Da-a-a-a-a-addy-y-y-y-y-y . . ."

Breaking into a wan smile, Ashur shook his head and shuffled off toward the adjoining bathroom.  "Yes, your highness, I'm coming . . ."

Kells was already naked and hopping to try to hit the wall panel that would start the shower, golden brown hair bobbing around like mad as he grunted and tried again and again.  Ashur hit the panel then mussed Kells' hair before stripping off the thin knit pants he'd worn to bed and tossing them in the nearby hamper.

"Gwah!  It's cold!" Kells hollered, spinning away from the water flow, only to be sidetracked by the puddling water on the floor around the drain that he started to stomp in, sending droplets of water flying in every conceivable direction.

Ashur shook his head since he'd warned Kells a million times that it took a moment for the water to heat up to the proper temperature.  Even so, every morning it was the same thing: Kells, freaking out under the cold water.  Stepping into the shower, he planted a hand on Kells' head to steer him under the warmed flow.  "Where's your shampoo?" he asked, reminding the boy just what he was supposed to do next.  Kells giggled and squeezed about three times too much shampoo out of the little, shark-shaped bottle and proceeded to smash his hands on top of his head.  He did a fairly good job of lathering, but Ashur still had to help him with the back while Kells repeated the process with body wash on his little Chuck the Chameleon wash cloth.  "Make sure you get all your nooks and crannies," Ashur said, sticking his head under the tap to wet down his hair, too.  "If you get crusty, part will start falling off . . ."

"Which parts, Daddy?"

Ashur grunted.  "The most important ones . . ."

"Daddy!  Can Nadi and Emmy come to the zoo, too?"

"We'll see," he promised, closing his eyes as he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair.  "They might have plans already."

"Nadi and Emmy don't gots a penis."

Ashur's eyes flashed open as he leaned back to peer down at his son.  "And . . . Just how to do you know that?" he asked, suddenly feeling as though he might be treading on very dangerous territory.

"'Cause they were naked!" he squawked, waving his arms like a little bird.

Ashur shook his head and uttered a terse snort.  "Ben's failing in the Daddy Department, I see . . ."

' _It's going to be one of_ those _days, isn't it?_ ' his youkai-voice mused.

'. . . _Probably._ '

"Daddy!"

"Huh?" he intoned, only paying attention halfway.

"How do they go pee if they don't gots the penis?"

He sighed.  ' _Definitely . . ._ '

 

 

* * *

 

 

Glancing up from his newspaper, Ben regarded his younger brother with a very rapt expression on his face as he folded the paper and set it aside.  "Morning, Kyo—Ashur."

"Auntie Cherry!" Kells exclaimed, dashing over and throwing his tiny arms around his aunt.  Charity laughed and scooped up the boy, smothering his face with kisses as he erupted in happy squeals and giggles.

"What?  No love for me?" Ben asked.

"No," Ashur replied, nodding in thanks as Eddie, Ben and Charity's housekeeper, filled a coffee mug for him.  "No, you get no love, Ben.  Ask me why."

Ben chuckled.  "Okay, I'll play. Why do I get no love, Ash?"

Ashur nodded slowly.  "Kells, come here."

The boy wiggled to get free then darted over to his father's side.

"Tell Ben what you said this morning about Nadi and Emmy, please."

Kells cocked his head to the side as he pondered Ashur's question.  Then he grinned and hopped up and down, hands in the air, balled into little fists.  "I wanna be naked, too!"

Ashur snorted.  "That is not what you said.  Tell him what you asked me in the shower."

Kells' tiny face screwed up into an exaggerated look of utter concentration.  Then he gasped and hopped up and down again. "Uncle Ben!  How do they pee when they gots no penis?"

Ben opened his mouth then closed it again, sparing a moment to cast a quick glance at his wife, who was lifting an eyebrow in silent question of her own.

Ashur sighed.  "Your daughters are corrupting him, Ben, and I don't appreciate it."

Ben chuckled.  "They were only naked the one time while you were busy, talking to Zelig."

Ashur stared at Ben for a long moment, then let his gaze roam down slowly and right back up again. "Coming from the man, sitting at the table in a towel?  I don't believe that it's an isolated incident, at all."

A minute later, two little girls ran into the kitchen, both of them in nothing more than cute little girl underpants, and Ashur raised an eyebrow at his brother.  "I rest my case."

Charity choked on her coffee and set the mug aside as she tried to intercept the girls.  "And where are your night gowns?" she asked, laughing despite the stern expression she was failing at making.

The girls laughed and took off in opposite directions.

"You're contagious, Ben Philips," Eddie growled, shaking her head as she filled three sippy cups with apple juice.

Ben chuckled as he pulled both girls into his lap.  "What do you say, girls?" he prompted, nodding at the much-embattled housekeeper.

"Juice, please, Miss Eddie," they both said.  Charity covered her mouth with a hand to stifle her giggles while Ashur slowly shook his head.

Eddie sighed as she scooped up the three cups to deliver them.  "Breakfast, young man?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she handed Kells a yellow cup.

"Pancakes!" he hollered, buzzing around the counter to pull over the short footstool so he could watch the housekeeper mix up the batter for his beloved pancakes.  "Then we're going to the zoo!  Daddy promised!"

"The zoo, huh?  You mean, these little heathens aren't enough of a zoo for you?"

"Morning, Myrna," Ben replied, kissing Emmeline on the cheek before letting her down and repeating the process with Nadia since the girls had decided that they, too, needed to watch Eddie.

Charity filled cups for Ashur and Myrna before refilling Ben's and her own.  Ashur pulled out a chair for Myrna before sitting down on the other side of the table.  "So, what brings you by this early on a Sunday?" Ben asked, casually sipping his coffee.  "No hot date last night?"

Myrna shot him a droll look.  "Well, it's like this, Ben: I need a favor—a big favor.  A _huge_ favor."

Ben blinked and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest as he slowly regarded the hawk youkai.  "You hate asking for favors," he reminded her.

She made a face, flicked her hand in blatant dismissal.  "I know.  I do.  I really, _really_ do.  This time, though . . . It's kind of an emergency."

"That's . . . got my interest," Ben remarked.  "So, what's the problem?"

"I'd better not be seeing those dirty paws of yours in that batter, Kells," Ashur said as he shook out the newspaper and disappeared behind it.

"My paws are clean, Daddy!" he hollered.  "Honest!"

Ashur snorted indelicately.  "And  you're totally missing the point.  Don't stick your hands in raw batter."

Kells just giggled and proceeded to dunk his index finger in it, anyway.

Ben cleared his throat.  "Ash, your son is sucking on my daughter's finger," he remarked.

Ashur didn't look up from the paper.  "Good.  He'll make some woman ridiculously happy one day."

"Oh, nope, now she's licking _his_ fingers," Ben muttered.

"And now, they're learning to share.  It's fine."

"All right, all right, about my favor, Ben?" Myrna interrupted with a melodramatic sigh.  "And no matter how you try to spin that, they're cousins—or whatever you're calling it these days—so that—" she waved a hand at the children, who were currently covered in pancake batter, "—is just a little disturbing, if you ask me . . ."

Ben chuckled, mostly because of the relatively strange situation that had come about when Ashur had adopted Kells.  Nowadays, it wasn't so strange, but back when Kells was nothing more than an infant?  Ashur frowned as he turned the page.  Back then, it took some getting used to.

After the fight between Ben and their father, he'd known that their mother didn't have long left to live, but in the craziness that followed, he hadn't anticipated that Hana, one of the family's long-time servants as well as Ashur's oldest and dearest friend, would overhear the truth of what happened to her mother so long ago.  Something had snapped in her that day, and Ashur hadn't been able to stop her when she went after his very, very pregnant mother, and, while he could appreciate why Hana did what she did, he couldn't see past the idea that Hana hadn't cared that Yukina was carrying a child.  InuYasha had managed to pull Hana away from Yukina, but not before the damage was done—she'd incapacitated Ashur with a senbon—and Ashur had barely had time to cut open Yukina's distended belly, to pull the baby to safety, before she died, her body disintegrating in a flash of light and wind . . .

In the days that followed, he had shut himself away in solitude as he'd tried to come to grips with what had happened—all of it—leaving the infant boy that had no name and no parents left, even more alone, despite the careful efforts of Charity, who had thought to take the infant to live with her and Ben.  In the end, Ashur had decided to keep him, to move with him to America, to change their names in the hopes that the child could be raised and exist away from the stigma that would otherwise taint him back in their homeland.  He'd decided that it was in the boy's best interest to adopt him, too, and the only people who knew the truth were the higher ups in the youkai society—mostly Charity's family since they were of the ruling family.  He'd talked to Ben about it, told him his reasons, why he thought it would be best.  Some small part of him had worried that Ben wouldn't like the idea, and with good reason.  He was, after all, as much Kells' brother as Ashur was, but Ben . . . They'd discussed it at length, and Ben opted to allow the adoption, to take on the role of uncle instead.

"Anyway," Myrna went on, "I don't have time to have a nice, long chit-chat . . . She's going to be knocking on my door in a few hours, and I've got to make arrangements before she does."

"Who?" Ben asked, arching an eyebrow at the hawk-youkai.

Myrna made a face.  "My cousin," she said, as if it made perfect sense.

"You have a cousin?"

"Focus, Ben!" she insisted, rolling her eyes as she slugged back the coffee in her cup.

"What's . . . _wrong_ with your cousin?" Charity asked.

"As far as I know?  Nothing.  I just can't have her living with me," she grumbled.

"May I ask why?" Ben intoned mildly.

Myrna made a face.  "I'm going to be out of town indefinitely, to start with, and I can't take her with me, even if I wanted to, which, by the way, I don't."

"How old is she?" Ben questioned.  "Why can't she stay by herself?"

"I don't know . . . Sixteen or seventeen, I think?  Still a child, and I really, really don't like children."

"Why is she coming to live with you?" Charity asked, slowly shaking her head.  "I mean, if you don't like children—although seventeen isn't _really_ a child anymore . . ."

Myrna snorted.  "Anyone under the age of thirty is a child to me," she insisted.  "There's not really a choice.  My aunt was killed in a car accident a few months ago, and her mate just died within the last week.  There is no other next-of-kin, so I win the booby prize . . ." Myrna heaved a sigh, tapping her manicured claws on the table.  "What was I supposed to do when they called?  Tell them I didn't want her?  Besides that, they're from Ireland, and with things the way they are over there right now . . ."

Ben sighed.  He understood exactly what Myrna meant.  The situation was entirely to volatile still, and, while Ben had managed to subdue one of the major players in the anti-Sesshoumaru faction, he hadn't quelled them all when he'd challenged his father and won.  "I don't know what to tell you, Myrna.  Charity and I were getting ready to move back up to Maine, so that isn't really a feasible option, either."

"Anyway, they tell me that she's done with high school," Myrna went on.  "Smart chick—graduated early—and I guess she was thinking about enrolling at a university, but things are so messed up right now—her parents didn't have a will, and they were youkai, so there were no bodies, either, which makes it pretty damn difficult to get the necessary death certificates without having to deal with all the crap that goes along with it, and since they have to go through that damned MacDonnough to get those certificates then there's no telling how long that'll take.  The representative said that they're working on it, but until they manage to get it all figured out and filed away, the girl cannot access any of the accounts that are due to come to her: no nothing, really—they won't even let her stay in her own home . . .You could put her to work or something . . . I mean, she could clean or stuff like that.  How hard can that be?"

Eddie snorted indelicately when Ben shifted his gaze to her with a thoughtful frown.

"Well, Eddie's getting pretty old," he allowed.

"Bite me, Ben," the housekeeper shot back.

Charity cleared her throat.  "You are _not_ replacing Eddie, and she most certainly isn't old!"

Ben chuckled.

"I wasn't asking you to replace your housekeeper," Myrna grumbled.  "I just thought that it could be a way for her to earn a little spending cash since she has absolutely none."

"Not . . . really . . ." Ben remarked.  "Even so, most people won't hire someone like that without prior references.  "I assume that she's never done this kind of work before?"

Myrna reached for the carafe to refill her coffee cup.  "From what I remember, she's a princess," she remarked.  "Her crazy mother had her signed up for all that crap: dance—jazz, tap, ballroom, hell, even that weird Irish dancing stuff—piano, equestrian lessons—you name it.  If it was pretentious and snobbish, she was in it." Shaking her head slowly, she let out a deep breath that blew her blonde bangs straight up off her forehead.  "Mind you, the only time I met her was when she was six and they were in the area for a visit.  That was _more_ than enough, if you ask me . . . And then to top it all off, Cain asked me to do a little . . . research, and considering the nature of it . . . It's not exactly something I can drag her along on . . ."

Eddie carried three plastic plates of pancakes over to the table as the girls climbed into their booster seats at the table and Kells clawed his way onto Ashur's lap.  He hissed when one of the boy's claws dug a little too deep, and Kells' usual ebullient manner melted as his huge blue eyes widened even more, as his bottom lip quivered.  "Sorry, Daddy, sorry!" he exclaimed.

Ashur ruffled his hair and set the paper aside to help him up.  "It's fine, Kells," he told him.  "Do  you want me to cut your pancake?"

Satisfied that he hadn't inflicted any long-term damage, Kells shook his head and grabbed his fork, wrapping his hand around it, caveman style. "I can do it!" he insisted.

Ashur grasped the toddler's hand and fixed the positioning of his grip before letting the boy have at it.

Myrna sighed and shifted her gaze around the table, only to light on Ashur and stop.  "You . . . You don't have a housekeeper, do you?"

Ashur blinked and slowly met the woman's eyes.  "No, I don't," he admitted.  "That doesn't mean I was looking for one, either—especially one with no background in doing such things."

"Okay, then, how about just letting her stay with you?  At least until we can get her squared away financially."

"I have enough to deal with at the moment," he remarked, nodding at the boy in his lap, happily making a mess of his pancake.

Myrna snorted.  "I didn't want to have to do this to you boys, but you're forcing my hand."

"And how do you figure that?" Ben asked mildly, digging into the eggs and sausage that Eddie had set before him.

"Because it's _your_ faults that Cain asked me to go on reconnaissance, in the first place.  If you would have just stayed in Japan, doing your spying and just reporting in like a good boy, then there wouldn't have been any need for this, but no, the two of you had to go in, all guns blazing in your botched attempt to thwart the coup, and I wouldn't have been called in, which would have totally negated my need for a babysitter for my cousin!"

Ben scowled at her, his usual calm, even pleasant demeanor, gone.  "You know why we did what we did," he muttered, casting Charity a sidelong glance.  She heard the conversation, of course, and she knew ultimately that the target was her grandfather, the great and powerful Sesshoumaru, but she was holding her emotions in check very admirably.  "Drop it."

Myrna scoffed.  "I'll drop it, but you've got to help me here—that's all I ask.

Ben sighed.  "I'm sorry, Myrna.  I would, I swear, but we're leaving in few days ourselves, and, given how busy I'll be, well . . ."

She held up a hand in blatant dismissal.  "What about you, Kyouhei?"

"Ashur, if you please," he reminded her.

"Okay, Ashur . . . please."

Frowning at the dribbles of syrup staining the cuff of his white shirt, Ashur shook his head.  "As much as I'd love to, Myrna—" He didn't really sound like he wanted to, "—I cannot.  I've just taken over the Canadian region, which means that we'll be relocating soon, too, and even if it were possible, I can't help but to think that you haven't painted a very good picture of this cousin of yours, anyway.  So, yeah . . . No."

Myrna opened her mouth to plead her case some more, but Charity reached over, laid her hand on his hand to stop his tirade.  "Now, Ashur, think about that.  I mean, Myrna did say she only met her briefly one time when the girl was six.  That was, what?  Ten?  Eleven?  Years ago, and it's not like it'd be for that long, either, right?  I mean, there's only a year or two until she's of legal age here, and even then, I'm sure they'll have worked out the terms of her inheritance long before then.  Why don't you just let her stay with you until she can get enrolled in a university?"

Kyouhei heaved a sigh and shook his head once more.

No, there really was no way he was going to cave on this, all things considered, no matter how much they argued with him . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Metempsychosis_** _: the transmigration of the soul, especially the passage of the soul after death from a human or animal to some other human or animal body_. 
> 
>  _Kyouhei will explain later, the significance of his name change, but he uses Ashur as it means 'new beginnings' in some regions.  He also tends to use Ash to signify the bridges that he's burnt over his lifetime and the regrets he carries from them_.
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from Ashur**_ :  
>  _Myrna is a menace_.


	2. Changing

"Tell me once more, Kells, what will you never, _ever_ do again, should I ever, _ever_ take you to the zoo again—which is not going to happen any time soon," Ashur stated as he set the child on his feet in the quiet foyer of the townhouse.

Kells heaved a sigh and latched onto Ashur's leg.  "But they wanted out!" the boy insisted, his distress very obvious in the heightened brightness of his blue eyes—eyes so much like Ashur's in color, but entirely unlike his in the darkness that tended to linger in his gaze.  "They said to let them out! They said they hated the walls!"

"Oh, yeah, that's not going to work," Ashur muttered, arching an eyebrow as Kells' bottom lip started to quiver, as an added luster entered his huge eyes, as the salt of tears hit Ashur full-on a moment later.  "They kicked us out of the zoo," he reminded the child, "and whether the cubs liked their confines or not, you may not— _may not_ —release five cougar cubs into the city."

It was a holding display used to house baby animals before they were ready for life in the regular enclosures, and Ashur had been sidetracked for all of five minutes, fielding a phone call, when Kells had slipped around and unlocked the doors to the thick glass cell.  Within those five minutes, Ashur had turned around, only to find Kells, flat on his back with the five cougar cubs all over him: licking his face, playing with him as though he were one of their own.  It might have been cute on some level, had zoo keepers and zoo security not showed up seconds later, and the commotion that ensued had done more to upset the cubs than being let out of the enclosure had.

Luckily for them, however, one of the keepers was youkai, so he'd managed to talk the head of security down from his initial desire to have Ashur arrested, though he also told Ashur not to come back until Kells was old enough to understand that he must not ever unlock cages or try to breach the built-in security features of the various habitats . . .

He let out a deep breath, shaking his head as he picked up the boy, who settled his head on Ashur's shoulder with a tumultuous sigh and his fingers stuffed into his mouth—something he only did when he perceived that he had displeased Ashur in some way.

"Are you ready for a nap?"

Kells shoved his head up Ashur's chin.  "No," he whined.  "I wanna be wif you."

Ashur sighed.  Just what was he supposed to say to that, especially when things like that tended to trigger memories—memories that Ashur truly hated.  Memories of being left to his own devices, even when he was as small as Kells was now . . .

" _Okaa-san!  Okaa-san!_ "

" _Goodness, Kyouhei.  Why are you yelling?" Yukina asked, casting him a quelling glance before turning her attention to the ledger she was writing in_.

 _He made a face, shuffling his bare feet against the tatami mat floor_.

 _She sighed—an irritated sound—and she slowly, carefully set the brush aside and turned to face him once more.  "Yes, Kyouhei?_ "

" _I found a family of birds," he said, his tone low, respectful, the way she always demanded that he spoke to her_.

" _Well, leave them where you found them.  Birds are dirty and disgusting—and make sure to wash thoroughly before you appear before me again.  You're filthy_."

 _He nodded, the excitement of his discovery very rapidly dwindling as his mother turned away once more, dismissing him entirely.  Tiny shoulders drooping, he scowled as he gathered the waning edges of his bravado.  "O . . . Okaa-san . . .?_ "

 _That sigh again.  "What, child?_ "

 _He flinched, his chin dropping, and he slowly stepped back.  "Nothing . . ." he muttered, making a low bow before quietly slipping out of her room once more_ . . .

The memory faded, and Ashur winced, holding Kells just a little tighter, a little closer.  "All right," he relented, kissing the boy's downy head.  "But you'd better be on your best behavior . . ."

"I be good, Daddy!  I be good!"

"Don't make promises you won't keep," Ashur warned.  "How is it that you can hear the cougars talk, anyway?"

Kells blinked and pushed against Ashur's chest to lean away far enough to stare curiously up at him.  "I don't know!" he exclaimed, tossing his hands up to his sides, palms up, as he shrugged his tiny shoulders.  "I don't know!"

It was odd, that.  Ashur had assumed that Kells was the same as him—an earth-manipulating-youkai—since he bore such an uncanny resemblance to him, but maybe he was wrong.  After all, a panther, as their biological father was, was just a black big cat, really, so maybe Kells actually had inherited the ability to hear and to speak to the cougars from that . . . It was still a little too soon to tell, given that the boy was only two, almost three, years old . . .

The toll of the doorbell interrupted the moment, and Ashur heaved a sigh since he knew well enough who it was likely to be . . . Curse Charity and her adorable habit of trying to sway his opinion—and curse him for letting her do it . . . That phone call he'd gotten at the zoo . . .

" _Hey, Ash," Charity greeted as Ashur glanced over to see what the little dictator was up to.  Peering at the babies inside the various holding cages, he was fine at the moment_.

" _Hello, Charity.  Is there something I can do for you?_ "

 _"Funny you should ask me that," she drawled.  "I was wondering . . . Are you really against the idea of letting Myrna's cousin stay with you for a little while?  At least, until things get straightened out?_ "

" _Yes, I am," he stated flatly_.

" _But she could help you_ . . ."

" _She's a child.  What would she possibly be able to help me with?_ "

" _And you'd be helping her out at the same time," Charity concluded_.

 _Rubbing his forehead, he snorted indelicately.  "Charity_ . . ."

" _Then won't you do it as a favor for me?" she pleaded.  "She just lost her family . . . and you, better than anyone, can understand that, can't you?_ "

Heaving a sigh as he shook off the lingering memory, Ashur slowly shook his head.  That, as far as he was concerned, was a pretty low blow, especially coming from Charity.  It was also the reason he'd ultimately agreed to the arrangement.

Taking the couple strides to cross the floor to the front door, he opened it wide, only to come face to face with Myrna . . . and apparently, her cousin.

"Thanks a bunch, Ashur," Myrna remarked as she slipped past him and into the foyer.  "I owe you."

"It's fine," Ashur muttered, stepping back to allow the girl to enter as he frowned at her choice of attire.  Sure, it was a little overcast out and it was a little cool, especially for this time of year, but it wasn't freezing out, by any means, even though the girl seemed to think that it was well below freezing .  She wore a dull and scuffed black leather trench coat that looked like it had seen better days with the hood pulled over her head and a pair of huge sunglasses that covered half of her face, and the only bit of luggage that she had was a good-sized black leather knapsack that she had slung carelessly over one shoulder.  "Does she have more baggage?" he asked, glancing at Myrna as the girl slipped past him and wandered toward a small table against the far wall to examine the jade panther statue arranged on a crisp white cotton doily.

"That's all she's got," Myrna remarked as she flicked her wrist to check her watch.  "I've got to get to the airport, but here," she said, handing him a huge wad of cash.  "Can you take her shopping?  I would, but . . ."

He pinned her with a look designed to let her know exactly how put-upon he was feeling, but took the money and nodded.

"Thanks," she said again before turning her attention to her cousin once more.  "Oh, uh, Ashur, this is Jessamyn O'Shea.  Jessamyn, this is Ashur Philips.  He's going to be your guardian until we get things straightened out . . ."

If the girl heard what Myrna said, she gave no indication.  Myrna shot Ashur an apologetic look as she headed for the door. "I'll call to check on her once I get to Tokyo," she said.

Ashur nodded as Kells dug his hand out of his mouth long enough to wave bye-bye.

The silence that lingered long after Myrna stepped out of the house and closed the door was absolutely deafening, ringing in his ears like the knelling of an invisible bell.  The sadness that emanated from the girl in wave after cloying wave was terrible to behold and even worse to feel, crashing against his youki with a harshness, an abrasiveness, that couldn't be ignored or rebuffed.

' _That girl . . . She's not okay; not even slightly,_ ' he thought as he narrowed his gaze on her straight back.  She still stood there, running her index finger over the jade statue, but she retained her stony silence, drawing her youki in now and again like a protective blanket . . .

His sigh broke the quiet, and he purposefully shuffled his feet enough to split it, almost like a physical thing.  "This way," he said, heading for short hallway behind the kitchen that led to the maid's quarters.  Since he didn't have one, he figured that it'd be best to put her there so that she could retain a semblance of privacy—and so could he.  "I'll show you your room."

She said nothing as she ducked her chin, as she slowly turned to follow him, her face completely obstructed by the deep hood.  Kells squirmed, pushing himself up higher to see over Ashur's shoulder, peering curiously at the girl that trailed behind them.

He got to the end of the short hallway, and opened the door, gesturing at the short hallway beyond.  "This is the maid's quarters," he said, stepping back to allow her to pass.  "I don't have one, so you're welcome to stay here.  It's set up like a small apartment, and your bedroom and bathroom are up those stairs . . .  If you want to . . . to put your things away . . . Or you can take a look around.  I'll leave you alone, Jessamyn."

He started to walk away.  Her voice—whispering, cracking, soft, yet somehow sounding so very, very old—stopped him.  "Jessa," she said.   "My . . . My name's Jessa."

 

* * *

 

 

Ashur awoke with the strangest feeling, almost as though something were very, very off as he sat up and blinked away the last vestiges of grogginess that always seemed to cling to him for the first few minutes after waking up.

Glancing at the clock, he frowned.  Well after eight in the morning?  How was that possible when, every morning since Kells had learned how to escape the confines of his crib, the boy had crawled into bed with him?  And . . .

And just where was he now?

Tossing back the duvet, Ashur got out of bed to stride out of his room, intent on finding Kells . . .

He hadn't quite reached the doorway when Kells darted inside, skidding to a stop just before careening right into Ashur's legs.  "Daddy!" he greeted, sticking his arms straight up in the air as he hopped on the balls of his feet.  "Morning, Daddy!"

"And where have you been?" Ashur asked, arcing an eyebrow at the errant child as he turned and headed for the bathroom for their morning shower.

"I sweep wif Jessa," he said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.  "She was cryin'."

The slight irritation that had ignited when Kells said that he had slept with the girl who hadn't emerged from her room since he'd left her there yesterday afternoon died as quickly as it had shot to life.  "She was crying?" he asked, setting Kells on his feet inside the bathroom.

He nodded.  "She said she misses her daddy," Kells replied earnestly, frowning at the idea of having to miss one's father.  Suddenly, though, he perked up.  "You can be Jessa's daddy, too!"

Ashur grunted as he slapped the wall panel and tugged off his sleeping pants.  "Uh, it doesn't really work that way, Kells," he muttered.

Kells hopped into the shower behind Ashur.  "She's pretty, Daddy," Kells remarked as he squeezed his eyes closed and let Ashur wet down his hair.  "I _love_ her!"

"Well, that didn't take long," Ashur mumbled, helping Kells lather his hair.  It occurred to him that he hadn't actually seen the girl, other than the vague form of her that was lost in the oversized trench coat and hood.  "You can't love someone you just met, you know.  It'd be more like . . . intense fascination—or morbid curiosity."

Kells laughed.  "I morbid curious her!"

Ashur barked out a terse laugh—something he didn't do very often.  "Something like that," he agreed, tilting back Kells' head to rinse the shampoo out of his hair.

"She said I can sleep wif her any time I wanna," Kells went on quite happily as Ashur handed him his washcloth and pointed at the body wash.

"It's good to know that you've got such a way with the ladies already," Ashur remarked, wetting down his head, too.  "I thought you liked sleeping with me."

"She smells nice," Kells replied, as though that were reason enough for his blatant defection.  "Is she gonna live wif us forever?"

"Uh, not forever," Ashur said, grimacing when he got a bit of the shampoo in his eye.  "Remember, we're moving soon, too—well, as soon as I find a house for us up there . . ."

"What about Ben and Cherry?  What about Nadi and Emmy?"

"They're moving to Maine, remember?  And we're going to be a few hours away from them . . . or more."

Kells digested that for a moment before turning solemn eyes up at Ashur.  "But we're family, and family belongs together, you said."

Ashur stifled a sigh, wondering how it was that Kells could possibly remember something he'd said months ago but couldn’t remember something as simple as picking up his Duplo blocks instead of leaving them all over his floor . . . "We'll still be together, and even if you don't see them every day, you can video chat with them whenever you want."

"But what about my birthday?"

"I'm sure we can work something out for that," he said, shutting off the tap and reaching for the towels, handing Kells his favorite Sonny Sunshine printed one.

Kells draped it over his head and yanked the ends back and forth while Ashur wrapped his towel around his waist and nabbed a pair of Sonny Sunshine underpants for Kells and tossed them to him.  He giggled and squirmed his way into them, making faces as he concentrated the whole time since he hadn't bothered to properly dry off first.

"Daddy, can we go to the zoo?"

"Fat chance, Kells, or did you forget what you did there yesterday?"

Kells' face scrunched up in a frown.  "But I'm sorry!" he exclaimed.

Ashur scooped him up and set him on the counter before grabbing his towel and scrubbing briskly at his head to dry him off.  "I know you're sorry, but we're not going back until everyone who works there who would remember us is dead or fired," Ashur vowed as he hung the towel on the rack to dry and reached for Kells' hairbrush.

"I can do it!" Kells insisted, reaching for the brush, only for Ashur to pull it out of his reach.

"Yep, but you never brush the back of it, now do you?  Besides, we've got a few things to do today, okay?"

"Like the zoo?" Kells asked hopefully, pinning Ashur with the big-eyes-look.

"Nice try," Ashur muttered, rolling his eyes as he finished brushing out the back of Kells' hair before handing the brush over so that he could do the front and sides himself.  "Besides, Charity will be here shortly to take Jessa to the store to get some clothes."

"Can I go, too?" he hollered, nearly toppling off the counter top in his excitement.

"We'll see," he said since it was usually easier than to give Kells a straight-out, 'no' even though he didn't figure that toting along the hyperactive tyrant would actually be conducive to shopping for clothes.

It was too late, though, and with a happy holler, Kells hopped down and bounced right on out of the bathroom.

Ashur heaved a sigh, slowly shaking his head as he watched the tow-headed cub disappear out of sight.

It didn't take him long to brush out his hair, to slap it back in a casual, albeit low hanging pony tail, nor did it take long for him to pull on a regular pair of black slacks and a billowing white cotton dress shirt—what he considered to be 'everyday' clothes.  Charity had commented before how he tended to dress like a pirate.  He'd ignored her, of course.

Striding out of his room, he headed toward the kitchen, taking the steps two at a time.  He wasn't surprised to see that Kells wasn't in the kitchen, either, and he shook his head when he noticed that the door to the maid's apartment was standing wide open.  After a moment of deliberation, he walked down that short hallway and up the stairs, not stopping until he was standing outside Jessa's door.  He couldn't hear any movement from inside, but he did sense the surge of her youki, so he knocked and stepped back to wait.  When it finally opened, however, he snapped his mouth closed on whatever he had started to say, arching an eyebrow when he noticed that she was still wearing the ungodly trench coat—and she still had the hood pulled up over her head.  "Are you cold?" he blurted, since it was the only actual question that came to mind.

The hood shifted as she shook her head.  "N-No," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He let it go, though, since it wouldn't make any sense to pick a fight over her choice of clothing.  "My sister-in-law will be over shortly to take you shopping," he said.  "You've probably got enough time to get something to eat.  There's fruit and stuff down in the kitchen."

"Morning, Jessa!" Kells hollered, dashing up the stairs and latching onto the girl's jeans-clad leg.  "Can I go shopping with you?"

"Come on, Kells," Ashur said, peeling his child off of Jessa's leg and tucking the boy under his arm, not unlike how a football player might carry the game ball.  "They'll get more shopping done without you than they would with you."

"But—"

"Nope," he said in a tone that left no room for discussion on the matter.  He turned and walked away, heading for the stairs and the kitchen beyond.

"Da-a-a-a-addy!" he whined.

Ashur covered Kells' mouth with his hand and continued along his path.

He was just about to deposit Kells onto his booster seat when the doorbell sounded.  Altering his course, he pulled the door open and jerked his head to invite Charity inside.

"What are you doing to that baby?" she asked rather dryly, reaching out to take Kells and leaving Ashur on door-duty.

"Shutting him up," Ashur replied evenly as he stepped past her and headed for the kitchen once more.

Kells giggled as Charity planted a very loud kiss on his cheek.  "Can I go shopping, too?" he asked, giving his aunt his, 'Best-Little-Boy-In-The-World' look.

"I already said no, so it doesn't matter if Charity says yes or not," Ashur said flatly.

Kells heaved an inconsolable sigh, jutting out his bottom lip in a vain effort to make Ashur feel bad.  It didn't work, but he supposed he could give Kells a few points for trying.

"You're in a mood, aren't you?" Charity asked, opting to use a pleasant tone despite the concern obvious in her gaze.

He shrugged.  "Same as every day," he replied.

She didn't look like she believed him.

"I'm fine," he told her to stave back any more obtrusive questions that he just didn't feel like answering.

"So, tell me about her?" Charity prompted, opting to let it go, much to his relief, depositing Kells on his booster seat and hurrying over to fill a sippy cup for him.

"Not much to tell," Ashur remarked, dropping a couple slices of bread into the toaster.  "She didn't come out after I showed her to her room last night."

"Well, it can't be easy," Charity said, her expression showing her absolute empathy.  "Myrna said her father only died a couple days ago, and when she called to report it, the powers-that-be showed up and made her leave the house, and they wouldn't let her pack much of anything, either . . . It's really appalling."

"It was careless, is what it was," Ashur said with a pronounced snort.  "The man knew he was going to die.  It's obvious, right?  He was a fool if he didn't have a will drawn up to protect her—his own damn fault, if you ask me."

"No one asked you," the small voice said icily, the lilt of the Irish accent, thick, almost lyrical, despite the outrage that spiked in her youki.  Ashur glanced back over his shoulder, stifling a sigh, since he hadn't actually thought that the girl would venture downstairs until she was forced to.  "You don't know anything—not a _thing_ —so don't you dare say anything against my father."

Ashur, however, didn't back down.  "Any man who doesn't lift a finger to protect his own however he can is a fool," he stated flatly.  "He's the one who owes you an apology, not me."

"Ashur . . ." Charity murmured, laying a placating hand on his back.

He shot her a dark look but snapped his mouth closed.

The hanyou woman sighed.  "I'm Charity . . . I'm going to take you shopping as soon as you're ready," she said, inflicting a little more ebullience into her tone than was necessary.

Ashur snorted indelicately as the toast popped up, and he tossed them onto a plate and cut it up into small squares before retrieving the maple syrup out of the refrigerator and drizzling it over the haphazard pile.

"What is that?" Charity asked, shaking her head at the gloppy mess.

He spared her a cursory glance as he stepped past her with a red plastic fork to set the plate before Kells.  "It's French toast," he replied.

Her mouth dropped open, and she blinked for a moment before she managed to snap it closed again.  "That is so not French toast," she scoffed.  Then she held up her hands. "You know what?  Forget it."  Turning to the girl, she slipped an arm around her shoulders and maneuvered her back toward the door.  "We're going shopping," she said instead.

Ashur stood up and grabbed the money he'd left sitting on the counter the night before.  "Here," he said, striding over to give it to her.  "Myrna left this, but if you spend more, just let me know how much, and I'll reimburse you."

"Thanks," Charity said, stashing the cash in her pocket.  "Come on, Jessamyn, isn't it?"

The girl shook her head.  "Everyone calls me Jessa," she replied.

Charity smiled, sparing a moment to narrow her eyes at Ashur.  "That's a beautiful name!  Okay, Jessa.  Let's go get you some clothes—and let's also hope that _someone_ finds their manners by the time we get back."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Extra chapter for lovethedogs … Can't fix your roof, but I hope an extra chapter will cheer you up a little bit!_
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> **_Reviewers_ **
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>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader ——— oblivion-bringr
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>  ** _AO3  
> _** minthegreen ——— Audri566 ——— kds1222
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> _** lovethedogs ——— lianned88 ——— cutechick18 ——— Nate Grey
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
> … _So what_ does _she look like_ …?


	3. Feeling It Out

"I'm sorry that Ashur said those things to you."

Shrinking back, making herself just a little smaller in the seat of the late-model luxury car, Jessa lowered her head, ducked her chin, huddled a little closer to the door.

Charity sighed and gripped the steering wheel tighter.  "He's normally not like that," she went on, her tone more apologetic than Jessa figured it should be.  She hadn't said a damn thing, and she ought to not be apologizing for him, either . . . "It's just that he's been through kind of a lot himself the last few years . . . He . . . He really wasn't like this before . . ."

For some reason, the woman's gentle words were enough to irritate Jessa even more.

" _It was careless, is what it was . . . The man knew he was going to die.  It's obvious, right?  He was a fool if he didn't have a will drawn up to protect her—his own damn fault, if you ask me . . .  Any man who doesn't lift a finger to protect his own however he can is a fool.  He's the one who owes you an apology, not me_."

It was laughable, really, and she might have indulged in that, had it also not been so completely and overwhelmingly pathetic, too.  Maybe her father should have or could have done things differently in the weeks following her mother's death, but he'd been caught up in his own kind of hell, hadn't he?  And how, just how, could Jessa fault him for that . . .?

"When you get to know him a little, you'll see.  He really is a good person . . ." Charity sighed, turning into a parking garage across from a line of stores.  "He's just . . . forgotten a few things . . ."

Clenching her jaw so tightly that it ached, Jessa didn't trust herself to say a word.  Nice, wasn't it, to have someone who would or could stand up for you, to explain away the boorish behavior that was all right because he was damaged goods?  No one would do that for her, would they? Not that she'd want them to.  She had no one— _nothing_ —but she'd be double damned if she handed over what was left of her pride, too . . .

" _Jessa, lass . . . Hold your head high . . .  Put your shoulders back . . . There's not a being on earth—or at your ma's little party—that is better than you, you hear?  Don't you ever bow your head to anyone, lass.  That's my girl_ . . ."

Blinking as the sharp sting of tears prickled the backs of her eyelids, Jessa bit them back with a ruthlessness that would have made an army general proud.  Even the echo of her da's voice . . . It _hurt_ . . .

"I'm . . . I'm really not trying to make excuses for him," Charity went on quietly as she maneuvered the car onto the third level of the parking garage.  "I'm sure it sounds like I am, but . . ." Trailing off, she shook her head and carefully pulled into an empty spot not far from the overpass that led to the shopping complex across the street.  "He really shouldn't have said what he said to you."

It bothered her even more, didn't it?  Myrna, her own cousin, had thought nothing about dumping her with some stranger, hadn't batted an eye in shelling out a fistful of money, and sure, they weren't close and really didn't know each other, either.  Even so, something about the whole thing had felt so . . . so clinical, and had left her feeling like little more than an imposition, a nuisance, and that was more than enough to spike her ire, too.  The idea of being beholden to anyone rankled on her so badly that it made her want to scream.

' _At least if you must be beholden, he's not such a bad one to be beholden to_.'

' _Speak for yourself_ ,' she growled back.  ' _That man . . . What he said about . . . about Da_ . . .'

' _A shame, that is, don't you think?  Until he opened his mouth this morn, he was a right fair one_. . .'

She snorted inwardly.  At the moment, admitting anything even remotely complimentary about that particular youkai was just not something she was willing or able to do, no matter how ridiculously attractive he was . . .

' _So, you admit it!_ '

She gritted her teeth, ground them together hard.  Of course, she'd noticed.  She'd have to be dead not to notice exactly how handsome he was—Ashur.  He looked like an actor or a model, straight out of the biggest fashion magazines or the pages of _People_ . . . Eyes that were bluer than they ought to be, golden brown hair that hung to his waist, shinier than it should be, and a body that was too fit, too well-muscled though not at all bulky, with a trim waist and long legs . . . His chest was hidden beneath the billowing shirt, not that it mattered.  Somehow, she knew . . .  Too bad his cold demeanor, his acerbic personality, ruined his looks entirely . . .

Sometime during the night, as she'd lay awake, staring at the ceiling, she'd decided.  The best thing she could do, given that she really had no idea how long it would take to sort out her parents' estate, would be to find a job— _any_ job—and to get out on her own as fast as she could.  After all, she was only two weeks from being eighteen, and she'd read enough to know that eighteen was considered a legal adult in the USA . . .

Seeing no way around it, Jessa slowly got out of the car.  The last thing she wanted to do was to spend all day, traipsing around the stores, picking out clothing like there was nothing amiss in the world.  It felt so wrong, didn't it?  So shallow, so stupid, so useless . . .

Too bad she didn't really have a choice in it.  When the Gardai had arrived to tell her that her home was being locked up until everything was worked out, she'd barely been able to grab anything.  In the end, all that they'd let her pack into her backpack was an old photo album and a tiny lace handkerchief that her mother had made years ago because the Gardai had deemed the items of no monetary value, and the only reason that she'd gotten to take her father's coat?  She swallowed hard.  She hadn't meant to light the guard's sleeve on fire, no, but she wasn't exactly sorry for it, either.  It was during the ensuing commotion that she had managed to stuff the coat into her bag—no small feat, actually . . .

Charity paused, holding her door open as she regarded Jessa.  "Don't you want to take that off?  It's pretty warm today.  It's actually been warmer than usual this year so far . . ."

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, that she wanted to keep the coat on because the scent of her father still clung to it, even if that scent was growing a little weaker every day.  Swallowing hard, angry at the sudden sting of tears that tingled in her nostrils, prickled her eyelids, she slipped the coat off and stuffed it onto the passenger seat, closing the door before she changed her mind.  To her relief, Charity locked the vehicle, so she was reasonably sure that it would be safe . . .

When she dragged her gaze off the coat through the car window, her eyes locked briefly with Charity's, and she frowned at the rather startled expression on the woman's face.  When she caught her staring, however, Charity blinked quickly and forced a smile.  "Let's see what we can do about getting you more clothes," she said brightly, leading the way to the skyway.

 

 

* * *

 

 

' _You really shouldn't have said what you did about her father, you know_.'

Scrolling through the compiled file that was basically an overview of the Canadian region that he'd been asked to oversee for the Zelig, Ashur tried to ignore the censure in his youkai's voice.  Given that Kells was taking a rare nap on the floor by the television—he'd fallen asleep, watching _Sonny Sunshine_ —he figured he ought to take full advantage of the quiet.

' _No matter how you slice it, you pretty well kicked the girl when she's already down.  I mean, you know she just lost her father, so hearing anything that derogatory about him?  You know, don't you, that it had to have hurt._ '

' _Too bad it was entirely accurate, too,_ ' Ashur shot back mildly.  ' _No matter what he was going through, he should have taken the time to see to his daughter's needs, especially when he knew damn well that he wasn't going to be there to see to it himself.  She'll figure that much out eventually . . . or she won't.  I don't really care, one way or the other._ '

' _How did  you get like this?  This isn't like you.  It's never_ been _like you._ '

Heaving a sigh as he dropped the slim-file on the sofa beside him, Ashur stood up and stalked over to the window, scowling out at the mid-afternoon street.  "This is me," he muttered, his voice harsh in the quiet.  ' _It's . . . It's what's left of me . . ._ '

" _Sometimes the cost of silence far outweighs the price of one's conscience . . . In this, there are no winners . . . There are only losers who must decide how much they can stand to sacrifice—and why_."

He gritted his teeth as his own words came back to him in a whisper of irony . . . He'd said those things to Charity when she'd wanted to know why he'd go back and spy for the Inu no Taisho.  At that time, it had seemed so easy, hadn't it?  Back then, right and wrong were so black and white, and there were no shades of gray . . .

When did that all change?

He sighed.  No, he knew when that change had come, hadn't he?  Standing over his mother as her blood dripped out onto the floor, as her one remaining eye had stared at him with such animosity, so much hatred, and the only choice he'd had then was whether or not he'd save his unborn sibling . . .

And he'd stared at his claws, his hands, dripping with her blood, the crimson flow glowing black as the flash of wind and light took her away—as he'd held Kells to his chest, as he'd listened to the sobbing wails of a child, so tiny, so lost, so alone . . .

Something deep within him had broken that day, in that instant.  Something he'd never, ever get back, something that would never, ever heal . . . As InuYasha had held back Hana . . . And he couldn't even bring himself to look at her—his childhood friend.  She'd become someone he didn't know at all.  Yet he couldn’t hurt her, either: couldn't stand the idea of demanding the ultimate retribution from her for what she'd chosen to do . . .

So, he'd covered up her sin because a part of him could understand what had motivated her actions, but even that part of him could not forgive her—could not overlook the fact that she'd come so very close to killing Kells, too, when she'd taken it upon herself to demand justice for her mother.  In the end, he'd done the only thing he could think of to do.  He gave her money—enough money to live off of for the rest of her life somewhere far away—far away from Japan and the ugliness that lived there.  Far enough from him so that he'd never have to see her, ever again . . .

And then, he'd taken Kells, and he had walked away, too.

The sound of the doorbell drew him out of his reverie, and he sighed as he turned on his heel and strode to answer it.  He probably ought to see about adding Jessa to the security system or getting her a keycard, whichever.  He hadn't thought of it before, and he swung open the door to let Charity and Jessa inside.

Then he stopped.  Dead.  Unable to do anything other than to stare at the girl who stood there with Charity, unable to reconcile the sight of her with the hidden figure from yesterday and this morning . . . Hair that seemed like a dark, chocolate brown yet shot through with the brightest crimson streaks, highlighted by strings of copper that fell around her in a crazy disarray of loose curls, framing her alabaster skin, adding a vibrance to her eyes—eyes that were the exact color of the crimson streaks in her hair—almost brown, but not quite . . . The delicate features, the hint of a flush in her cheeks . . . and her incredibly willowy body with generous curves in all the right places . . .

The sun hanging midway in the sky seemed to add an unearthly glow to her, but the expression in her eyes—the darkest shadows that lingered deep down—added years to her age that shouldn't have been there as she stared at him in an entirely bored kind of way, as if he were of no more interest to her than a fly, buzzing around her in the summertime . . .

' _Kami . . . What . . .?_ ' his youkai-voice choked.

' _How . . .?_ '

' _She . . . kami . . ._ '

Charity handed him a couple of bags that he very nearly fumbled, but caught before they fell on the ground.  "Are you going to let us in?" she teased.

Ashur blinked, realizing a moment too late that he was, indeed, blocking the path, and he stepped aside with a frown.

She still wore that leather trench-coat, but she'd left the hood down.  It occurred to him that the coat didn't fit her at all, hanging off her shoulders like a sack, hiding the rumpled jeans that were smudged and needed a good washing and the tee-shirt she wore might have been pink . . . maybe . .  Maybe those things needed to be burned, not washed . . .

"This, uh, doesn't look like much," he said, gaze dropping to the bags in his hands and theirs.  All together, there were only about six of them, and they weren't very big, either.

"There's more in the car.  I think these are just her underthings," Charity said, handing the rest of her bags to Jessa.

Ashur very nearly dropped the bags.

'. . . _I want to see these 'underthings'_ . . .'

'. . . _Shut up_.'

' _Oh, right, and you're saying you don't want to see them, too?_ '

'. . . _Shut . . . up_ . . .'

' _Liar_.'

Charity grabbed his arm.  "Would you mind helping me get the rest?"

"Sure," he said, setting the bags on the floor near the wall.  He glanced at Jessa again as he followed Charity out of the house, shaking his head as he tried to wrap his brain around exactly what was happening.

' _How the hell did she hide all . . . that?_ '

 _'Go ahead, Kyou . . . You can say it_.'

' _It's 'Ashur, remember, and . . . I don't know what you're talking about_.'

His youkai-voice heaved a sigh.  ' _Ba-a-a-aka . . . And it's not so bad to admit that you think someone looks damn good_.'

' _For the third time: shu-u-u-u-ut . . . u-u-u-u-up_.'

"I was as shocked as you were," Charity said as they stepped off the porch and over to the car.  She sighed, then laughed.  "And I thought Myrna was gorgeous . . ."

"She's a child," Ashur stated.

"Age doesn't mean much," she argued.  "Not when she's been through more than she should have, no matter what her physical age is . . ."

He shot her a droll look and shook his head.  "The hell it doesn't," he countered.  "Isn't that why Ben left you alone for so long?"

She snorted.  "Ben's kind of stupid that way," she maintained.  "I don't know what I expected, but Jessa?  It just makes you wonder how many boys she's devastated so far in her seventeen years."

Ashur snorted and grabbed the rest of the bags.  "This still doesn't seem like very much clothing."

She shrugged and closed the trunk.  "Give her a break.  I'm pretty sure that she's still in shock, not that I blame her.  Let her have a bit of time to get her head on straight—and don't be rattling off any more of your nonsense like you did this morning.  Regardless of what you were thinking, you really did hurt her, I think."

"Are you done lecturing me, Charity?"

She made a face.  "Do you need it?"

He rolled his eyes and started back toward the townhouse again.  "Thank you," he called over, sounding a little less than truly sincere.  "Give Ben my regards."

She sighed again.  "Call me if you need anything else."

He lifted a hand to indicate that he'd heard her as he pressed his thumb against the identilock and waited for the lock to release.

His frown deepened when he stepped back inside.  Jessa was nowhere to be seen, and the bags he'd set down were gone, and, when he glanced into the living room, he wasn't surprised to see that Kells was gone, too, and he made a face.

" _She's pretty!_ "  That's what he'd said this morning.

' _Well, no, pretty isn't really right . . ._ ' his youkai-voice mused.

' _She isn't?_ '

' _Nope . . . She's more along the lines of drop dead gorgeous, don't you think?_ '

Heading for the stairs to deliver the rest of the bags, Ashur grunted.  ' _She might be,_ ' he allowed grudgingly, ' _someday, anyway._ '

His youkai sighed.

So did he.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Reading through the classified ads, Jessa frowned. She had thought that, in a place as large as New York City, that there would have to be something listed in there that she had the qualifications to do.  Apparently, she was very, very wrong, and she sighed.

There were lots of ads for things like receptionists—must have prior experience with Teletek systems—machine operators—must have prior experience with various shop tools and machines—tech support—must have prior experience with various computer systems and/or equipment—custodial positions—must have references—delivery drivers—must have own bike or clean driver's records—and the list went on and on.   Various other retail or fast food type ads, and those she could probably do, except that there was no way she'd ever be able to support herself on that kind of job, either, so applying for something like that was definitely out of the question . . .

Rubbing her forehead, she made a face.  That was the problem, wasn't it?  Raised as the only child and heir to the O'Shea dynasty that included a huge estate in Ireland, Dunborough, just outside of Belfast, which was where she called, 'home', along with a smaller but more prominent marquisate of Aumberlese, by which her great grandfather had been assigned the title of marquess, that had been passed down in each successive generation, as well as a slew of lesser-estates in and around Great Britain.  As the story went, her great-grandfather had thwarted an attempt on the life of the king at the time, and in his gratitude, he'd awarded him the title and lands.  All it meant to Jessa was that she was always introduced formally as 'Lady Jessamyn O'Shea' at events that she could not get out of, which she did, as often as she could, and often by feigning sour stomach or something of that nature.  For a very long time, she'd thought that she was clever, but her mother knew.  Of course, she knew.  It was Jessa's considered opinion that there wasn't much that her mother, Orlaith Daugherty O'Shea _didn't_ know.

Too bad the peerage did nothing to ensure that she would be hireable for work, especially here.

"Jessa, I want up!"

Glancing over the side of the bed at the hopelessly adorable little boy, Jessa pushed the paper aside and grasped him under the arms to haul him up onto the bed beside her.  "Those are cute pajamas," she remarked, pointing at comical lion printed in the middle of the boy's shirt.

He leaned back and smacked his hands onto his tummy.  "My uncle is a panther," he stated importantly.  "I want to be a panther, too!"

For the first time in days, Jessa giggled softly.  "I don't think you've got the coloring to be a proper panther," she remarked. "Panthers are always dark."

He cocked his head to the side as he considered what she'd said.  "I can talk to cougars," he replied.  "I let 'em go in the zoo!"

"You did?  That sounds dangerous for the cougars . . . Did they manage to catch them?"

The boy looked positively inconsolable.  "Yeah," he muttered, his chubby cheeks pinking.  "They didn't get away."

"That's probably for the best," Jessa remarked.  "I imagine your da didn't like that very much."

Kells wrinkled up his nose.  "No . . . I gots in trouble," he admitted.

She bit her lip, loathe to laugh at the poor child.  "I'll tell you a secret—it's one my da told me once when I was about your age."

Kells' eyes light up at the idea of sharing a secret with her.  "Okay!"

"He said that the animals in the zoo like to live there.  They get fed, and they get to play, and they don't have to go out and hunt or do any of those things, especially when some of them are so hunted on the outside that they'd never exist if they didn't live there."

"O-O-Oh . . . The cubs just didn't like the cage," he concluded, then he sighed.  "Daddy says we can't go back until the people are dead or gone . . . But I like the zoo . . ."

She frowned.  "He said what?"

Kells shrugged, then hopped to his feet and jumped up and down a few times.  "Can you be my mommy?"

Jessa blinked and shot the boy a look.  "Wh-Wh-What?" she stammered, unable to help the blood that suddenly shot into her cheeks, making her feel a little feverish.  "Wh-Why would you ask me that?"

He giggled.  "'Cause you're pretty an' I wike you!"  Then he frowned.  "Everybody else has a mommy . . . Nadi and Emmy have a mommy . . . Cherry's their mommy . . ." His frown shifted into a confused sort of sadness.  "I don't know why I don't gots no mommy."

Jessa sucked in her cheek as she pondered that.  It was strange, come to think of it—strange and not really possible, either, was it?  How could it be that Kells seemed to think that he didn't have a mother?  He and his father smelled so much like one another that she hadn't thought to question it, but it was quite obvious to her, too, that there wasn't a woman in residence, either . . .

' _It's not possible that he doesn't have a ma_ ,' she mused, frowning to herself as the little one hopped enthusiastically.

' _Maybe not, but he's not old enough to understand the why of it, either . . . I wonder if his da knows how he feels about it?_ '

 _'It . . . It isn't really any of my business—and given his disposition, he'd probably snap my head off if I were to ask, anyway_.'

' _Oh, he might not be that bad.  Maybe you just got off on the wrong foot_ . . .'

Eyes darkening as she scowled toward the windows on the far side of the room, Jessa snorted inwardly, flipping a clump of crazy-curly hair back over her shoulder.  ' _He insulted Da_ ,' she maintained stubbornly.  ' _He had no right, and_ —"

' _And you hate that he had a fair point . . . You know as well as I that your Da really should have done exactly what he said—and you know well enough that he hadn't meant for you to hear him, either_.'

' _Don't make excuses for him_ ,' she countered.  ' _I don't . . . I don't_ care . . .'

Flopping back on the bed, she reached over to tug her father's coat over herself.  Kells apparently decided that he'd had enough hopping around, and he dropped down beside her.  "I can sleep here!" he announced happily.

It crossed her mind that maybe his father might not like it as she reached over, pulled him close against her, and he sighed happily, tangling his tiny hands in her hair.  But she was too tired to haggle over it tonight, in any case, and by the time that thought had occurred to her, it was too late: she was already almost fast asleep, and so was Kells.

She was asleep long before Ashur opened her door, frowned down at the sleeping forms in the bed.  A sad sort of expression softened the features of his face, a quiet melancholy that emanated him in waves.

He stood there for several minutes, staring at the two of them.  He fleetingly considered, picking up Kells and put him to bed in his room, but he discarded that idea just as quickly, and, in the end, he quietly pulled the door closed again and shuffled down the hallway toward the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Gardai:_** _An Garda Síochána: meaning "the Guardian of the Peace", more commonly referred to as the Gardaí or "the guards" "Guardians", is the police force of Ireland_.  
>  _The quote was taken from **Purity Redux: Fruition** , chapter 29: Whispers_.
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
>  _** Silent Reader ——— Usagiseren05 ——— xSerenityx020
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
>  _** minthegreen ——— AGAUGER
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
>  _** lianned88 ——— lovethegirls ——— cutechick18
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> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _Where is his mommy …?_


	4. Searching

Ashur raised his knuckles to rap on the door before stepping back and tapping the plastic card against his palm.

He heard a slight rustling as Jessa opened the door, her expression guarded, distrustful, as she met his gaze.  Hair tumbling around her in the most jumbled, tousled way possible, she looked like she'd just rolled out of bed despite the pink sun dress she wore.

"Here," he said, holding out the card to her.

"What's this?" she asked, her sing-song voice taking on a wary lilt to accompany her Irish brogue, slowly taking the card, turning it over in her hand.

He shrugged.  "A keycard for the front door," he said in an aloof tone of voice since he figured it should have been quite obvious, what it was.

"Thank you," she replied, just as stiffly.   "And thank you for letting me stay here," she went on.  "I . . . I truly appreciate it."

Ashur shrugged and strode away toward the stairs.  "Don't thank me," he called over his shoulder.  Something about her tone . . . She didn't sound particularly thankful.  If anything, it had sounded entirely perfunctory, which was the reason why he'd brushed it off.  She'd actually sounded borderline hostile, if he were honest, and that, more than anything, rubbed him the wrong way.

' _Admit it.  The real reason you're being so pissy is because you miss your little bed hog_.'

That didn't deserve a response, as far as Ashur was concerned.

' _At least you didn't have to worry about waking up with his feet or arse in your face._ '

' _I just don't want him getting too attached to her when she won't be around that long,_ '

' _Is that your reason, too?_ '

' _I don't need a reason, and I_ don't _know what you're talking about._ '

' _Don't you?  Then tell me why you stood there so long last night, staring at them . . . and tell me why you were bent out of shape enough that you had to go out and tear down a couple trees . . .? Don't forget to call someone to come deal with that mess, by the way . . ._ '

' _. . . Fuck off._ '

Taking the steps, two at a time, he closed the door behind him without stopping and strode through the kitchen, only to heave a sigh when he spotted Kells, sitting on a short bench in the foyer as he tried to put his shoes on the wrong feet.  "If they don't fit, maybe you should try putting them on the other foot," he pointed out, leaning against the banister and ignoring the desire to go over and fix the problem himself.

Kells cocked his head to the side, frowning at his father as he considered what he'd said.  One could almost see the light bulb flash to life over the boy's head, though, and a moment later, he giggled as he stuck one foot behind the other and lifted them off the floor to point at Ashur.  "Now they're right!" he exclaimed.

Stifling a sigh, Ashur shook his head and stepped over to help the boy, anyway.  "Stick out your feet, Kells," he said, kneeling down and holding out his hands.

Kells did, and Ashur jerked back when Kells about nailed him right in the nose.  Of course, the little tyrant giggled madly when he got 'The Look' for it.  It figured.

He switched the shoes and shook his head when Kells insisted loudly that he, "can tie 'em, Daddy!  Daddy, I can do it!  Daddy, _sto-o-o-op_ it!"

"Where we going?" Kells demanded as he hopped off the bench and stomped to make the soles of his shoes light up.

"I have to go meet with Bas, and you get to go play with Nadia and Emmeline while I do."

Kells stood up straight—he'd been bending over to inspect the flashing lights—and leveled a look at Ashur.  "I can stay here an' play wif Jessa!"

"Oh, no, you can't," Ashur grouched, herding the boy toward the door despite his stomping little protest.  "And we've got to talk about her, anyway, so move it."

Kells growled like a little lion as he stomped out the door and down the steps, stopping on the sidewalk even though his legs kept pistoning up and down, his hands balled into tiny fists as he kept growling angrily.

"That doesn't work on me," Ashur remarked mildly, slapping a hand on the boy's head and directing him forward as he ignored the odd looks Kells was garnering with his display of temper.  "Anyway, about Jessa—"

"I wanna go back!" Kells half-whined, half-growled.  "I wanna play wif Jessa!"

"She's not going to be staying with us long enough for you to get too attached to her," he pointed out.  "And we're moving, remember?"

"Jessa  can come wif us!" he insisted.  "She don't got nobody, she said!  We can be her nobodies!"

Ashur snorted, rotating his hand to get Kells to turn right.  "That would be 'somebodies', and no, we can't be."

"Why not?"

He was rapidly losing his patience, and he sighed.  "Because that's not how things go," he said.  "You don’t just pick up people and randomly add them to your family."

"Why not?"

"Because you just don't."

"But she's lonely!"

He rolled his eyes and shook his head.  "How do you know that?"

"Because she cwies at night."

And that statement stopped Ashur in his tracks.  Heaving a sigh, he glanced down at Kells, only to see the forlorn expression on the tiny face.  It wasn't the first time that he'd said as much, was it?  Ashur grimaced inwardly.  "She cries," he repeated.

Kells nodded sadly.  "Why does she do that, Daddy?"

Ashur scooped the boy up and settled him on his hip as he continued walking again.  "She . . . She lost her mama and papa," he said quietly, his gaze clouding over as memories flashed through his head, as fleeting as the spring breeze.  "They . . . They died . . . They left her alone."

Kells digested that for a moment before unconsciously snuggling closer.  "Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you gonna die?  Are you gonna leave me alone, too?"

For some reason, that question . . . Ashur flinched and turned his head, kissing the boy's downy hair.  "No, Kells.  I'm not going to leave you.  I'll _never_ leave you."

Kells sighed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa heaved a sigh as she stepped back out onto the sidewalk, pausing long enough to cross out the ad on the classified page with a frown.

Two hours into her job search at the few places that had specified, 'no experience necessary', and she'd discovered something very valuable—something that she might have thought of earlier if she were thinking clearly, which, apparently, she was not.

She didn't have a work permit or a green card.

Dropping the paper into the trash can nearby, she hurried down the block to grab today's edition at the corner news stand, gritting her teeth as she dropped four of her last thirty dollars into the woman's hand—what was left after her shopping trip yesterday.  Reshouldering her purse as she dug through the paper for the Classified Ads, she blended into the moving bustle of people on the busy sidewalk as she flipped for the 'help wanted' ads.

She gasped and uttered a harsh little squeak as someone on roller blades zipped past her, neatly grabbing her purse and yanking hard, pushing people out of the way as he escaped with her purse.  "Help!" she hollered.  "He stole my purse!"  Not one person even looked in the direction she was waving her arms as the bulk of the newspaper fell onto the sidewalk.  Jessa broke into a pseudo-run, but the two-inch stack heels, along with the narrow sensible skirt she'd chosen to wear for her job search, hindered it, and she only made it a few paces, before she stopped, giving up since there was no way she could possibly catch him, dressed as she was.

"Here, sweetie, you dropped this."

Glancing over at the sound of the compassionate voice, Jessa sighed as she reached out and slowly took the jumbled newspaper back.  "Thanks," she muttered, scowling back in the direction that the man had disappeared.

The woman sighed, too.  "Happens all the time around here," she remarked.  "Did you have anything good in your purse?"

"Just twenty dollars," she muttered.  "My _last_ twenty dollars . . ."

"Oh, God, that's terrible," she said, pushing back a errant lock of platinum blonde hair.  "You have somewhere to stay, though, right?"

"I-I do," she said, hating how pathetic she sounded.

The woman smiled, her bright blue eyes taking on a friendly glow.  "I'm Carol," she said, slipping an arm through Jessa's and steering her toward a small café.  "I was just on my way home, but come on.  I'll buy you a cup of coffee.  You look like you could use one.  What's your name?"

"Jessa," she replied.  It was on the tip of her tongue to decline, but she sighed.  What was the point?  No matter how long she looked, she wasn't going to find a job, now was she?  Not when she didn't have the required paperwork . . .

"Morning, Jake!  Two brews," Carol called to the barista with a jaunty wave as she dragged Jessa through the café and out to the open air patio, enclosed by an ornate iron fence.  "He's a sweetie . . . originally from Ohio," she said as she let go of Jessa's arm and flopped into a white wire chair.  "Your accent . . . Irish?"

Jessa nodded, slipping into the chair across the table.  "Yes."

Carol nodded as she dug into her bag and pulled out a small bottle of moisturizer.  "Hmm?" she intoned, holding it out to Jessa.  She shook her head and smiled.  Carol shrugged and squeezed some out onto her fingertips to apply to her pretty face.  "How long have you been here?"

"Just a day, so far," Jessa admitted.  "It was . . . kind of sudden . . ."

"Thanks, dollface," she said, winking at Jake as he dropped off two steaming mugs of coffee.  "Coffee cake—two of them," she said, handing the man a twenty-dollar-bill.

He winked at Carol and hurried away.  "I'd sleep with that if he weren't gay," she said with an exaggerated sigh.

"You can tell from looking at him?" Jessa blurted.

Carol laughed.  "No, he told me," she said.  "It's a shame, right?"

Jessa smiled the first genuine smile in a long time.  "I . . ."

Carol's laugh escalated as Jake returned with two slices of coffee cake and Carol's change.  "There you go, ladies."

"Thanks," Jessa said.  Carol nodded her thanks since she was still in the throes of her giggling.  Jake smiled and moved away again.

Winding down as she carefully dabbed laugh-tears from her eyes with a tissue, Carol reached for her fork.  "So, are you just here visiting relatives?"

"N-No," she confessed, her gaze falling on the disheveled newspaper.  "I'm supposed to be staying with my cousin, but she had to leave town, so she ditched me with a friend's brother . . ." Jenna grimaced, wondering exactly why she was telling Carol any of this.

"Wow, that sucks . . . Staying with someone you don't know?"  Sitting back, she toyed with her cake, but didn't eat any yet.  "I came here a couple years ago when I graduated from high school . . . Took all my grad cash and bought a bus ticket.  I wanted to get into acting, so . . . Anyway, I slept on a few benches until I was able to find a job that paid enough, then I moved in with one of the girls I worked with.  That was . . . almost two years ago."  She laughed.  "I haven't gotten my big break, but I've done a few local commercials . . ."

Jessa sighed as she sipped her coffee.  "I . . . I was trying to find a job," she admitted as she slowly shook her head.  "But I don't have a green card or a work permit, so I guess that's out . . ."

"You want a job?" Carol asked over her own coffee cup.

"Yeah, but—"

"Well, not sure if you'd like it, but the club where I work is always hiring."

"Club?  But I don't have—"

She waved a hand.  "Rule Number One: in New York City, there is _always_ someplace that will hire you, even if you don't have the necessary documentation . . . but you won't find them in the classifieds," she added, flicking a well-manicured finger in the direction of the rumpled newspaper.  She made a face.  "I will warn you: it's not the nicest place to work, but if you smile at the customers, maybe let them see a little of the girls, they can tip pretty damn good."  She laughed as though she'd just made a joke, and she shook her head.  "Anyway, if you're interested, I'll take you there, introduce you to Stan."

"What kind of club?" Jessa asked slowly, unsure if she really ought to trust someone she'd just met.  It seemed just a little too good to be true, and the way her luck went, well . . .

Carol shrugged as she dug into her cake.  "Well, I'm not going to lie.  It's not the nicest place: kind of a dive bar, even though Stan calls it a club.  Some kindS of questionable stuff can go down in there, but we're just there to wait on the customers.  If you let them cop a feel every now and then, though, they tend to tip better, but no one says you have to do that.  Besides, most of the time, they're more interested in the dancers than they are in us waitresses . . . On a good night, I can pull a few hundred in tips, easy.  On a bad one, usually at least a hundred, and Stan doesn't make us share tips, so there's that, too."  She laughed.  "No benefits or anything, and the per-hour is practically non-existent, but there are free clinics all over the city, so that's not a big deal, either . . ."

"It's just waiting tables, then?"

"Yep . . . and I'd be there to watch out for you, too . . . I admit, there are a few regulars that I'd try to avoid if I were you . . . Big tippers, but they're also complete and utter bastards, so there are a few other girls who don't mind waiting on them when they come in.  One of the girls will fuck them to soak a couple hundred from them, but, well, I wouldn't do that . . ."

Jessa blushed at the vulgar term, and Carol giggled.  "I-I-I wouldn't do anything like that," Jessa admitted.

"No one would ask or expect you to.  Dottie's just a damn hussy, so she's the exception, not the rule."

Jessa bit her lip as she considered Carol's words.  On the one hand, she'd just met her, but on the other, she really did desperately want a job, especially if she could make good wages . . . Even so . . .

' _I don't know, Jessa . . . It sounds a bit too good to be true, don't you think?_ '

' _Maybe . . ._ '

' _And you know your ma and da would have a fit if they knew what you were thinking!_ '

' _They'd think that I have to have some way of making my own money,_ ' she shot back icily. ' _It's not like I have access to the accounts or anything . . ._ '

' _Oh, and just who's being little Miss Bitch now?_ '

' _I'm not being bitchy, I'm being pragmatic,_ ' she argued.

"Jessa?  Are you okay?"

"I . . . I should like to meet this, 'Stan'," she said slowly, carefully.  "If . . . If it's not a problem . . ."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Here you are," Jessa said as she slipped the three beer bottles onto the high table toward the back of the warehouse-turned-club known as The Jungle.  The three men at the table chuckled, eyeing her appreciatively as the nearest one reached over to touch the hair that had escaped from the high ponytail she'd carefully arranged just hours before.  Her gut reaction was to jerk her head to the side to avoid his touch.  She tamped it down and smiled at him instead.  "That'll be fifteen dollars."

The one across the table held out a twenty out to the side, folded lengthwise between his index and middle finger.

Taking up the unvoiced challenge, she stepped around the table and grasped the bill, only for him to let go, to close his hand over hers as he pulled her in closer.  "Keep the change, sweetness," he said.

"Thank you," she replied, managing to extricate her hand without incident as she turned to leave.

The one that had touched her hair caught her around the waist, tugging her back against him as she steeled her nerves and tried to squirm away.  "Don't go far, honey," he said in her ear, the stench of beer on his breath making her bite her cheek to keep from gagging.  "We're gonna want another round in a few minutes."

Pulling away from him, she pasted on a tepid smile and nodded as she slipped away from the table.  The flash of the strobe lights over the dance floor hurt her head as the reek of sweat and other scents convoluted, twisting around one another in a god-awful stench, and, not for the first time, Jessa had to wonder just what she'd gotten herself into . . .

"Hey!  Hon!"

Turning her head at the voice that had called out as she passed, she stopped next to a table about midway to the bar.  "Can I help you?" she asked, pasting on the fake smile once more.

"New here?"

She nodded.

The guy grinned.  "Damn . . . Cute, aren't you?"

She ignored his assessment and flopped the green and white order pad onto the tray that she braced against her stomach.  "What can I get for you?"

"Whiskey neet," he replied, handing her a twenty dollar bill. "Keep the change."

"All right," she said, taking the money and tucking it into the pocket of the short black apron she was handed at the beginning of her shift as she hurried away.

"Whiskey neet for table thirteen," she called out to the bartender.

She set the small tray on the bar and heaved a heavy sigh as Carol stepped up beside her with a bright and thoroughly encouraging smile.  "You doing okay?" she asked, raising her voice to be heard over the din of the dingy club.  Dark, dirty, with no windows and a totally grungy, industrial feel, right down to the rusty steel support beams, the black stained concrete floor, the cinderblock and perforated tin walls, the only real bright spots in the establishment were the neon blue lights overhanging the huge bar and the lines of neon lights that surrounded the black lacquered stage where different girls danced in various stages of undress as well as the aforementioned strobe lights that tore right through her brain.

True to her word, Carol had brought her to the club after they left the café, and it had only taken about five minutes after being introduced to Stan Brock, the overweight, middle-aged, balding owner, that he'd offered her a job at the minimum wage for waitresses, explained to her that there was no real dress code for them, but that if she liked tips to try to make sure she dressed to impress, and told her if she wanted the job to show up at ten, which she had done.

It rather disturbed her, just how easy it was to get out of Ashur's townhouse on East 64th Street after going through the few clothes she'd bought and realizing she didn't actually have anything that she suspected would be considered 'appropriate' for her new job.  In the end, she'd settled on a thin black satin blouse that was fit well and a pair of plain black, low-riding jeans, along with a pair of black suede ankle boots.  Then she had simply climbed out one of the small windows in the living room of the maid's quarters that conveniently was on the side of the house, out of view of the back yard or the street after locking the main door for the night, but not before having to deal with a crestfallen Kells, who had wanted to sleep in her room again.  In the end, she had told him that she was going to work, which he seemed to understand, but she'd asked him not to tell his da, which she wasn't entirely sure that he comprehended.  He did, however, understand what a secret was, and when she'd explained that it was a secret, he'd brightened up considerably . . . Even then, it's not like he would care what she was doing, except that he was supposed to be watching out for her . . .

Jessa nodded, pasting on a smile that she was far from feeling as her head throbbed to the pulsing beat of the overly-loud sound system.  "It's not bad," she replied.

Carol turned her head, nodded at the table where Jess had just dropped off drinks to the three lechers.  "How much they tip you?"

"Five," she said with a shrug.

"Five?  Cheap asses . . . Come on."  Rolling her eyes despite the smile on her face, Carol grabbed her arm and started to tug her away.  "Break," she yelled at Roger, the bartender, who waved a hand to indicate that he'd heard her.

"What are you doing?  Where are we going?" Jessa asked, leaning in close to be heard.

"I'm getting you better tips," Carol said as she dragged her through the grimy kitchen, dodging the scant cooking crew, and out the delivery doors in the back.  The doors closed heavily, and Jessa heaved a sigh of relief as the music was abruptly dulled.

Carol let go and took a step back, her brow furrowing as she slowly looked Jessa up and down.  "Here," she said, reaching out, unbuttoning the bottom few buttons on her black blouse.

"What are you doing?" Jessa choked out.

Carol didn't reply as she grasped both ends and tied them together just under her breasts, exposing a large amount of Jessa's belly in the process.  "Carol!"

"Almost . . ." Carol remarked.  She tugged open the top two buttons, leaving just the tie to hold it closed.  "There.  Now you'll get some better tips . . . Damn, you're hot, you know?"

"Carol!" she complained, her cheeks exploding in crimson color, starting to button the shirt once more.

Carol reached out and stopped her with a smile.  "Trust me, Jessa.  If you give them a little peak—not too much, but not too little—they'll throw money at you—especially you.  Just make sure you bend over so they get a good look . . . The hotter you are, the more likely they are to break into the old piggy bank, just to impress you, even if there's not a snowball's chance in hell that they'll ever get to touch . . ." She shook a cigarette out of the pack that was hidden behind an old sign leaning against the rough brick wall, she struck a match and lit it, tilting her head back as she slowly exhaled.

She cast Carol a scowl, but let her hands drop away again.  "If you're sure . . ."

Carol laughed.  "Have you seen the other bitches in there?  You look like a prude in comparison—not trying to be insulting, Jess, but it's true . . ." She sighed and shook her head, her eyes owlish and dark in the harsh and wan light from the naked bulb over the door.  "Though, to be honest?  If you let them occasionally cop a feel?  Then they're putty in your hands, as far as tipping goes . . ."

Shaking her head when offered the burning cigarette, Jessa sighed.  "I don't think that I'd want that . . ."

Carol didn't look surprised.  "If someone gets more handsy with you than you're comfortable with, just let Rock know—he's the bouncer—and he'll put them straight.  Stan might be a lot of things, but he'd never allow any of his girls to be treated in a way that they're not okay with."

Carol took another deep drag off the cigarette before letting go of it and dropping it on the ground to crush beneath her heel.  "Come on," she said with another sigh.  "Let's go get you some decent tips, okay?"

Jessa drew a deep breath, too, pressing her hand against her stomach to quell the strange intrusion of butterflies that had nothing at all to do with anticipation.  "Okay," she agreed.  "Oh . . . Okay . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** AGAUGER ——— sobisucubu ——— aimless38
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** lovethedogs ——— lianned88 ——— cutechick18
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Carol_** :  
>  _Damn, she's a hottie!_


	5. Slow Understanding

"For the most part, the Canadian region tends to be fairly quiet, which is why Craig didn't actually stay up there most of the year," Ben remarked as he scanned through the quarterly reports dating back ten years.

"Why did he give up the position?" Ashur asked as he settled back in the easy chair caddy corner from the sofa.

Ben shrugged.  "Well, he never actually intended to keep the position that long.  He filled in more as a favor to Zelig, and he wanted to get back to his original occupation as an archaeologist, so it was good timing, really."

Ashur nodded slowly as he looked through the reports.  As far as he could tell, the Canadian region had been remarkably stable and had only really had one notorious moment, and that was on the part of the old general, Jared Brantley, who had been proven to be one of the most perfidious men that Ashur could credit.  He'd heard the story from Bas, first hand, and all he could say was that he agreed entirely with the outcome.

"I don't understand," he said slowly, thoughtfully.  "Tell me how a man like Jared Brantley managed to fool the Zelig into becoming one of his generals, in the first place?"

Ben sighed.  "His father held the position before him, and when he died, Cain just figured that Jared had been raised around it, so he understood . . . There never was any indication that he wasn't all he pretended to be until Sydnie came forward with her story."

Ashur nodded.  He supposed he could understand that.  People were damn good at hiding their not-so-innocent machinations, after all.  Just look at their father . . . If anyone had mastered that particular talent, Hidekea Muira had done that for years, and with flair . . .

"Daddy!"

Ashur shook off the reverie and glanced up as Kells dashed across the floor, heading straight for him.  "Where's the fire, Kells?" he asked dryly.  "And why are you wearing that?  It's too cold to go swimming yet."

"It's warm!" Kells insisted, hiking up his slightly oversized swimming trunks that he'd begged for less than a week ago.  "Please?  _Ple-e-e-e-ease!_   Can I have the key?"

Ben arched an eyebrow.  "The key?  For the pool gate?"

Kells nodded emphatically.

"You're not allowed to swim alone, not to mention that it's still only March," Ashur reminded him, "and I don't have time to go out there with you right now.  Maybe in a little while . . ."

Kells wrinkled his tiny nose, twisting the tie of his swimsuit around his fingers so tightly that the tips turned a hideous shade of crimson-blue.  Ashur reached over and cut through the string with his claw before Kells managed to cut off his circulation entirely.  "Jessa's gonna swim wif me!"

"I don't know that swimming—"

"Kells . . .?"

' . . . _Ashur_ . . .?'

' _What?_ '

'. . . _You . . . You_ need _to look_ . . .'

Turning his head to see just what his youkai was barking about, Ashur stopped, blinked, and stared.

It was her.  In a swimsuit.  Not just any swimsuit, though—kami, no.  She was wearing a ridiculously small black two-piece thing that might well have been a bikini on a two year old, and her lithe body, her generous curves, were entirely too amply on display, though that insanely red hair of hers fell over her shoulders, covering some of what he was staring at, but not nearly enough, oh, no . . .

Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered that he was very blatantly staring, and yet, he couldn't seem to stop himself, either.  Perfect, wasn't she?  Absolutely perfect, from the top of her crazy-wild hair to the bottom of her delicately formed feet, he couldn't quite believe that she was real, that she was standing there in his living room, her gaze full of an understated wariness that lingered just below the surface . . . If Ben could see it, Ashur didn't know, and, at the moment, he didn't care, either.  Somehow, someway, this mysterious girl, this being that should have only existed in the confines of dreams or fantasies . . . There she stood, her chin raised just enough to give testimony to the unabashed defiance of a young woman who refused to be ashamed of who and what she was . . .

Ben coughed rather indelicately.  "You must be Jessamyn," he said, rising out of his chair to shake her hand.  "I'm Ben—Ash's brother."

"Just Jessa, is fine," she replied, those bewitching eyes of her, wide, unblinking.

She stepped forward and cautiously shook his hand.  Kells happily leaned on the arm of Ashur's chair and hopped up and down like a jackrabbit.  "Keys, Daddy!" he hollered again.

Heaving a sigh as he forced his attention off the girl, Ashur stood up to dig the key out of his pocket, but he didn't hand it over to the boy.  "Here," he said, extending the key ring to Jessa.  "Don't let him have it.  He loses everything."

"I don't lose stuff!" Kells argued.

"Thought you wanted to go swimming, brat," he muttered.

Kells giggled and grabbed Jessa's hand, dragging her toward the French doors and outside to the pool that Ashur had fenced in shortly after purchasing the townhouse since Kells had showed an abnormal interest in the pool from the beginning.

Ben cleared his throat, his gaze trained on the doors that the two had just stepped through.  "She . . . doesn't look a thing like Myrna, does she?"

"Just because they're related doesn't mean that they're twins," Ashur remarked rather acerbically.

He chuckled.  "True, but there's very little in the way of any family resemblance."

Rolling his eyes, he wandered over to the French doors, just in time to see Kells barrel into the water while Jessa set aside the towel in her hand, placing the keys carefully on the table near one of the lounge chairs.

"Are you worried that she won't keep an eye on Kells?"

Ashur shook his head, watching the two.  Jessa sat down on the edge of the pool with her feet dangling in the water.   Kells splashed her, and she squealed—he could vaguely hear her, even though the doors—and she kicked her feet, sending water at Kells in retaliation.

"Kells really seems to like her," Ben went on in an entirely too-casual tone of voice.

That comment only earned him a grunt as Ashur turned away from the doors and strode back over to the chair before  flopping back down again, burying his face in his paperwork and refusing— _refusing_ —to glance back at the French doors again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Watch, Jessa!"

Jessa lifted a hand to shield her eyes as Kells half-ran, half-walked-really-fast toward the edge of the pool and jumped in.  She laughed and clapped as the boy came up, sputtering and wiping his eyes with a bright grin on his face.  "Excellent form, Kells," she told him.

He doggy-paddled over to her and grasped the side of the pool where she sat with her feet dangling in the water.  "Did you see?  I jumped!"

She laughed, reaching over to smooth his hair back out of his bright blue eyes.  They'd already been out here for a few hours, and her skin was starting to get a bit warm.  She never burned, of course.  Being a fire-based youkai had its advantages, especially when her skin was otherwise such a milky-white shade of nothing.  If it weren't for her natural tolerance to fire and sun, she never burned, but on the flip side, she never tanned, either, which just figured.  She'd even resorted to using self-tanning lotion before, and that almost always turned out badly, resulting in hideous orange skin that was normally ridiculously streaky and otherwise even more terrible looking.  All in all, she figured that she normally resembled a ghost with a weird wig on . . . "So you did," she agreed.  "Have you had enough swimming yet?"

He wrinkled his adorable little nose as he quickly shook his head.

"Not even if I promised to buy you some ice cream?" she prompted.

He blinked as he considered that offer, his long, spiky eyelashes dripping water off the tips.  "Daddy says I can't have sugar," he confessed, though he was unable to completely hide the hint of belligerence in his expression.

"Why's that?"

He heaved a sigh, jutting out his bottom lip in a very pronounced pout that was adorable on him, just the same.  She couldn't resist as she reached over and flipped his bottom lip a few times.  His pout disappeared as he giggled instead.  "Daddy says sugar makes me hyper . . .  er . . ."

She choked out a giggle.  "Hyperer?  Is that even a word?"

He shrugged.  "I don't know!  I'm only fwee!"

"You're only _two_ , Kells.  You won't be three until May."

Her amusement died on her lips as her back stiffened, as she slowly turned her waist to peer up and behind at Ashur, who stood, hands in his pockets, an inscrutable look on his face.  The way the sun glinted off his hair—clubbed back in a low hanging ponytail—seemed to lend him a strange sort of glow, even as the warm afternoon sun cast his face in a study of dark and light, and it struck her, just how attractive that particular man really was.  He carried himself with an easy kind of grace, a dexterity that so many men tried to achieve, but in him, it was entirely effortless.  Maybe it was due to his background—he had to have some sort of cat in him, didn't he?  His brother was very obviously panther-youkai, and, though Ashur didn't have the typical hallmarks of a feline-youkai, that sense of dexterity was unforgettable, too . . .

He was tall—taller than her father, and he was one of the tallest men she had ever known—lanky yet not at all what she would consider wiry, either.  Broad shoulders, narrow waist, he was the kind of man that made women turn and stare whenever he walked by, wasn't he?  Entirely too pretty to credit, she supposed that maybe it had something to do with his bone structure in his face.  At last, that's what her mother would have said.  Her father would have just called him a good-looking man . . .

' _He's . . . He's . . . beautiful_ ,' she thought as she absently wondered why he would possess such deep, dark shadows in the depths of his gaze.  It was those shadows that seemed to add age to his otherwise youthful appearance, that brought out a far more unapproachable air to him, as though he'd rather level a death-glare at someone rather than to let them come anywhere near him . . . But . . . But why . . .?

Yet the seconds seemed to tick away as he just stared at her, neither of them speaking, neither of them seeming to realize just what they were doing, in the first place.  Kells kept splashing in the shallow end of the pool, babbling to himself as he played and entirely oblivious to the strange undercurrent passing between the Jessa and his father . . .

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she understood just how rude she was being, and yet, she couldn't quite help it, either.  Something about his gaze held her riveted—the way the blue of his eyes seemed to churn, reminding her of the Irish waters that she'd left behind, of standing on the cliffs on her father's estate, as she stared out over ever-frothing water of St. George's Channel . . . It was the same shade, that blue—the same cold that existed over the rougher tint of a turbulent shade . . . He almost seemed as though he were trying to ask her a question, but she couldn’t quite understand it, either.

He didn't move at all—not a shift in his stance, not a thing as the warm March air rippled over him, tossing the end of his long ponytail, blowing his bangs into his eyes.  The set of his jaw, the fullness of his lips . . . For some reason, a distinct shiver ran down her spine as her stomach flopped over, unleashing a certain languor that coursed through her body, but it wasn't exactly unpleasant, either; not in the least . . .

Suddenly, though, she gasped and smothered a harsh shriek as a small blur of a child smashed his cold, wet body against her back.  Kells had gotten out and decided he wanted to hug her, and she jerked involuntarily at the shock.  "K-Kells!" she exclaimed, swinging her legs out of the pool and hastily scrambling to her feet as she hurried over to retrieve his towel off the back of a deck chair.  She picked him up, but only after wrapping him in the cloth as he giggled, his teeth chattering as the cooler air hit his body.

"Oh," she said, carting around to hand Ashur back the gate key.  She stopped short at the strange glow alight in his gaze.  "A . . . Ashur . . .?"

He blinked at the sound of his name, shaking off whatever he had been thinking as he drew back slightly, forcing his gaze away.  "I, uh . . . I thought maybe you were hungry," he blurted, sounding a little more uncertain than he had since she'd met him.  "But if you leave it to him, it'll be somewhere like Chuck E. Cheese," he warned.

She shook her head.  "What's that?"

Ashur made a face.  "It's the bane of parental existence," he muttered.

She frowned. "What?"

Flicking his wrist, he turned back toward the house again.  "Never mind . . . Just . . . If you want to go, uh . . . you should probably get dressed . . ."  He sighed, turning back to take Kells from her.  "Come on, you little tyrant."

Kells huddled closer against his father's chest, obviously seeking warmth since the temperature was starting to drop just a little.  "I wanna go to Cheesy!"

Ashur sighed.  "I'll meet you in the living room in an hour," he called over his shoulder.

"Okay," she called after him as she stopped to lock the gate once more.  She frowned.  Whatever she thought she'd felt, thought that she'd seen in his eyes . . . She shook her head as she dismissed it, convinced that it was all in her head, and even if it wasn't, well . . . Well, she really didn't know exactly what it was, in the first place . . .

Even so, the idea of going out for dinner didn't sound so bad, after all . . . It beat the usual of a cold meat sandwich that was actually pretty disgusting, but seemed to be about the only thing in the refrigerator . . . A hot meal—any hot meal—would probably be better, wouldn't it?  Even though she still had no idea just what Chuck E. Cheese actually was . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He sat at a mushroom-shaped table in the sprawling play land known as Kid Zone, which was the result of a careful negotiation with Kells since the food here was fairly decent, provided one avoided anything listed as 'healthy', but still contained enough entertainment for a hyper two-almost-three year old tyrant to get his energy out in a relatively acceptable way.  Kells was busy, dragging Jessa from one activity to another, having abandoned Ashur about the moment that they'd walked through the door.  They'd already done the rock climb wall followed by a jaunt through the ball pit, and it was anybody's guess as to where, exactly, Kells was dragging the girl off to now, but she might well score some points with him if she could keep up with the child for more than another ten minutes . . .

' _Which is all well and good, considering we get to sit here and watch her . . . Maybe we should buy her a few more bikinis . . ._ '

Ashur didn't deign to respond to that as he frowned at the mushroom and Swiss burger and fries arranged on the platter before him.  He hadn't touched it yet, even though it did look a far sight better than the congealed cheese-covered pizzas that were just a step above disgusting that were served at Chuck E. Cheese.

' _Admit it, won't you?  Whatever you might think of her, she's dead damn gorgeous, don't you think?_ '

That also didn't deserve a response, as far as Ashur was concerned.  Heaving a small sigh as the boy struggled into a fuzzy coverall, he shook his head despite the trace smile that quirked the corners of his lips.  Kells finally allowed Jessa to help him zip up the bright green jumper, all but bouncing right out of the silly outfit as the girl held onto his arm while the attendant explained a few base rules to the child, who was well beyond actually listening.  Then he took off at a sprint toward the spring board that launched him toward the Velcro wall, and even from the distance, Ashur could hear Kells' pealing laughter as he stuck fast a good fifteen feet off the ground—probably a record, all things considered.

The poor attendant actually had to get a short ladder since Kells was stuck well enough that he couldn't peel himself away from the wall.  As it was, the kid had to yank on Kells' upper arm and leg, only to let go as gravity took over, and, in essence, rolled the boy down the wall that way until Jessa could reach him and yank him free, and the whole time, Kells howled in giddy joy as he wiggled out of the coveralls.

With crisis neatly averted, the young man who had rescued Kells from impending doom leaned down to whisper something in Jessa's ear.  She gave him a tepid little smile that was little more than a perfunctory gesture on her part.  Entirely undaunted, he grabbed her wrist just to stop her when she started to walk away with Kells in her arms, hurrying to scribble something on a tiny slip of paper that he tucked into her hand with a rather bashful little grin.

She stuffed it into the pocket of her low-rise black jeans before giving the bottom of the pristine white crinkle-cotton babydoll blouse a tug so that it floated back into place around her hips again.  Kells grabbed her hand, almost dragging her forward, and it was only as they neared the table that Ashur realized that he was growling.

Cutting it off with an inward snort, he sat back, blanked his expression, ignoring the little nudges that goaded at his rising irritation at the numerous male heads that turned, that watched the girl as she passed—appreciative stares, openly leering expressions from men, sitting with their families, for kami's sake . . .

' _What do you expect?  Jessa's damn gorgeous._ '

' _And she's little more than a child herself,_ ' he reminded his youkai.

' _Apples and oranges, Kyouhei.  She's youkai, and that makes a huge difference._ '

' _Not really, it doesn't . . . and it's, 'Ashur'._ '

' _Suit yourself . . . for now_.'

"Can we do it again after we eat?" Kells asked as he climbed up into his chair and grabbed a French fry to jam it into his mouth.

"It depends on your da," Jessa replied as she slipped into the next chair over, across from Ashur.  If she minded the burger he'd ordered for her, she didn't comment as she picked it up and bit into it.

The boy turned his attention on Ashur at last.  "Did you see me, Daddy?  Did you see me get stuck?"

"They should have left you up there," Ashur remarked dryly.

"But I was hungry!" he argued.

Ashur nodded.  "Good, then eat your dinner."  Arching an eyebrow when he noticed that Jessa had set her burger down and was lifting the top bun to inspect it, he shrugged.  "If you want something else, that's fine.  You two took off before I could ask what you might want."

"Oh, no, this is fine," she said, her cheeks pinking just a little under his close scrutiny.  "I was just trying to figure out what's on it," she explained.  "It's good.  I've just never had anything like it before."

"Just Swiss cheese and mushrooms," he said.

She nodded.  "We never had dairy," she said, replacing the bun and taking another bite.  "My ma was lactose intolerant, so it was just never in the house."

"A lactose intolerant youkai?"

She considered it for a moment, her eyes taking on a slightly perplexed hue.  "She said she was, but then, maybe she just didn't want the extra calories or something.  Who knows?"

"I see," he said.  "Are you?"

Jessa shrugged and bit down once more.  "I don't think so."

He shook his head.  "You'll know, one way or another, in about half an hour," he countered dryly.

She sat there for a long moment with a rather curious expression on her face, as though she were considering something, and finally, she blinked and frowned thoughtfully at him.  "Did you just tease me?" she asked at length.

Ashur paused with a fry halfway to his mouth as he considered her question.  "I suppose I did," he admitted.

She nodded slowly as a little smile quirked her lips, adding a sparkle to her eyes, a slight pinkness to her cheeks, as a little giggle slipped from her.  "Oh, then that's quite all right," she decided, nibbling on a French fry.

"You need kep-chup!" Kells blurted, rising up on his knees and waving his hand toward the bottle of ketchup in the middle of the table.

"Oh, no, you don't," Ashur said, grasping the back of Kells' shirt and tugging him back into place again.  He then retrieved the bottle and squirted a small pile on the boy's plate.  "There."

Kells wrinkled his nose.  "Not for me!  For Jessa!  And I need more, all over my fwies!"

"Your dinner plate does not need to look like a crime scene," Ashur replied, "and I daresay that Jessa wouldn't like that, either."

"Da-a-a- _addy!_ "

Heaving a sigh, he handed over the ketchup bottle and shook his head as Kells proceeded to dump half the bottle all over his food before snapping the plastic lid closed as he smiled happily at the mess he'd made.  Then he turned and held the bottle out to Jessa.

"Uh, n-no, thanks," she said, taking the bottle and setting it back in the middle of the table once more.

"But it's good!" Kells insisted.

Jessa laughed and reached over to tousle Kells' hair.

Ashur watched the exchange, but remained silent as he bit into his half-cold burger, realizing absently that it was the first time he'd felt even slightly hungry in a long, long time . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
>  _** Usagiseren05 ——— Silent Reader
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
>  _** Audri566 ——— minthegreen ——— AGAUGER
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
>  _** lianned88 ——— lovethedogs ——— cutechick18
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _That … was a lot of ketchup … Ugh_ …


	6. Crawl

Jessa groaned as she rolled over in bed, yanking her pillow over her head as she sought to block out the noise coming from the traffic on the street below.  Not for the first time, she had to wonder why there wasn't some sort of law against blaring one's car horn at the bloody crack of dawn.

' _It's not really the bloody crack of dawn,_ ' her youkai-voice pointed out.  ' _And you're the one who forgot to close your window—again_.'

' _Quit_ _talking.  I'm going back to sleep_.'

Except, she realized after ten minutes of futile effort, she wasn't going to do that, at all.  So, she was in a pretty shoddy mood, all things considered, as she sat up straight, her blankets crumpling around her waist as she heaved a heavy sigh and slowly rubbed her face.  Glancing at the clock told her everything she didn't want to know: nine in the morning.  For some reason, that made her want to cry . . .

' _Because you didn't get off work this morning till nearly four, and by the time you got back home, it was closer to five . . ._ '

She smothered a sigh.  After she'd finally gotten home, though, she'd had to take a shower to wash off the stench of the club, and then she'd been unable to go right to sleep, either.  When she'd looked at the clock, it was nearly a quarter after six . . .

She was slowly getting used to working at the club, though, so that was a bit of a relief.  At first, she hadn't actually believed that she ever really would.  Carol was quickly becoming a very good friend—the first real friend she'd had since primary school, actually.  Given that the girls who attended the Saint Finian School, an all girls' parochial boarding school, were all of the most wealthy, the most noble of families in Ireland if not the United Kingdom as a whole, the level of rivalry was high, and the more notable one's family was, the worse she was usually treated, and, given her father's name and the rumored wealth associated with it, Jessa hadn't actually made any friends there, and when she'd enrolled at the All Saints Secondary Academy in Dublin, she'd been too busy, studying for her Leaving Certificate, to be bothered.  She'd passed with flying colors a few months after she'd turned seventeen, making her one of the younger ones in her year, anyway—something she'd always felt but hadn't really cared about.

The truth of it was that Jessa had really never gotten along with other girls her age and hadn't since primary school, and it was something that she'd never really understood.  It always seemed like the other girls had singled her out for whatever reason, snubbing her, spreading rumors, or just flat-out trying to bully her.  She'd ignored them easily enough, at least until she'd closed the door of the private room that her father had paid an exorbitant amount of money for.  Only then had she ever cried, but her pride had only allowed that a handful of times, too.  No, her escape back then had always been in seeking out the nearest stable—not difficult since her parents made sure that the schools she attended had stables and that they let her bring her beloved Derry along—the gorgeous white and black Gypsy Cob horse her parents had given her for her twelfth birthday.  Back then, she had spent many nights in the stable, sleeping beside him in his stall, much to her parents' dismay.  When the trials of boarding school had gotten to be too much, she'd saddled up Derry and had gone for long, long runs through the countryside around Dublin . . .

' _Who cares about all of that?_ ' she thought stubbornly, deliberately trying to ignore the nagging ache that surged through her at the very thought of the horse she'd had to leave behind.  That, more than anything, had been horrible, really.  As it was, she could only hope that Kermit, the stable hand who had worked for her family forever, it seemed, was allowed to stay to care for Derry, along with the rest of the horses still on the grounds . . .

She sighed, letting her head fall back as she stared blankly up at the ceiling.  In the nearly two weeks since she'd started waitressing, she'd managed to accumulate almost three thousand dollars that she kept neatly in her underclothes drawer.  By the time she turned eighteen in a few days, maybe she'd have enough.  Carol had said that she had an extra room if Jessa was interested.

So, just why was it that the idea of moving out was not nearly as appealing as it was before . . .?

' _You know why, silly girl,_ ' her youkai scolded lightly.  ' _And you're right.  When he's not being a complete and utter ass, he can be quite personable, can't he?_ '

She snorted inwardly.  ' _Just because he's taken me out to dinner with Kells a few times does not mean that he's not still an arrogant ass,_ ' she argued.

' _And he's bought more food than that disgusting lunch meat, he called it . . ._ '

' _A few fruits and some carrots and celery really aren't 'food'._ '

Rolling her head slowly from one side to the other, she let out a deep breath.   She really ought to go back to sleep, but she knew she couldn’t.  She'd always had trouble going back to sleep once she was roused.  If she were lucky, maybe she'd be able to get in a nap before work tonight, but given the fact that Kells seemed to love to drag her around everywhere, she rather doubted that, too.

As long as there wasn't a repeat of last night, it'd be fine, wouldn't it?

She flopped back down, rolling over to bury her face in her pillow.  She really didn't want to think about that; not really . . .

" _Jessie!  Can you grab that trash and take it out for me?  Kind of busy here," Roger, one of the bartenders for the night, hollered over the din of noise as Jessa set her tray on the counter to take her break_.

" _All right, sure," she said, hurrying around the bar to grab the bagged-up garbage.  She'd long since given up in correcting people who got her name wrong.  For some reason, everyone other than Carol seemed to think that her name was Jessie.  Maybe it was her accent_ . . .

 _Ignoring a table full of half-drunk late twenties men who hollered at her as she moved toward the baize doors that led to the kitchen with the trash in hand, she let out a deep breath as the greasy smell of too much fried everything stung her nostrils, and she rubbed her nose to stave off a sneeze.  She heard the doors to the front of the house swing open and closed behind her but thought nothing of it, fluttering her hand as a couple of the cooks called out to her in Spanish as she passed. They were nice enough, maybe.  Too bad she didn't understand a word of what they were saying_.

 _The cooler air outside the delivery doors was welcome despite the myriad of dark and dank smells that lived there.  The sounds of the club still hadn't stopped ringing in her ears as she sniffled and strode over to the dumpster that sat just outside of the wan circle of tepid light, she tossed the bag over the high side and turned around_.

 _She gasped, eyes widening as one of the men from that table grabbed her around the waist, shoved her back against the dumpster as he leaned down to kiss her.  She tried to push him away, but her arms were caught against her sides, and even though he was human, he was a very buff human, a good half a foot taller than she.  The beer on his breath was almost enough to choke her as she gagged and struggled to get away,  and when he tried to shove his tongue into her mouth, she bit down.  Hard_.

"Bitch!" _he shrieked, shoving her hard as he stumbled back a step.  Her head thumped against the unforgiving metal, and she grimaced, her breath whooshing out of her in a rush as his fist connected with her stomach, doubling her over as she fell to her knees_ . . .

 _The next thing she heard, though, was the man's crazy scream and the sound of heels clicking against the tired asphalt.  "Get the hell out of here, you bastard," Carol's voice registered.  "Come back again, and I'll let Rock beat on you until there's nothing left for your mama!_ "

" _Fuckin' bitches . . ." the man muttered between grunts of pain as he lurched away down the alley_.

 _Jessa pushed herself up, letting her temple fall against the cool dumpster as Carol watched him go before she dropped beside her, pushing her hair out of her face, cupping her cheeks in her hands as she examined her face.  "Are you okay?" she demanded, her voice unnaturally harsh_.

 _Jessa nodded, still catching her breath as she winced.  "How . . .?  How did you—?_ "

 _Carol barked out a harsh laugh as she smoothed her hair back again and planted a kiss on her cheek.  "I kicked him in the balls," she said, as though Jessa ought to have known as much.  "I saw him follow you . . . Damned bastard_ . . ."

 _Rubbing her face with shaking hands, Jessa pushed herself to her feet, wincing as she sighed and brushed off her clothes, absently thankful that the short skirt was black so it didn't show dirt like the white halter top she wore did_.

 _Carol stood up, too, reaching over to straighten the straps of the top that circled around the back of Jessa's neck with a frown on her pretty face.  "Here, your hair's all . . ." she sighed and shook her head, using her fingers to try to fix Jessa's hair.  "Are you okay?  I can cover your tables if you want to go on home for the night_ . . ."

 _Jessa cleared her throat, grimacing as the ache in her gut twinged.  She'd be all right by morning, she figured, but at the moment, it felt like someone had tried to twist her intestines into knots.  "I'm fine," she lied, forcing a wan smile solely for Carol's benefit_.

Heaving a sigh as the memory faded, she winced.  That was entirely too close for comfort, wasn't it?  Carol had suggested that she get a small can of pepper spray, just in case, but Jessa scowled.  She didn't really need that, did she?  What she needed to do was to pay more attention.  Somehow, she'd gotten lax, which was a really dumb thing to do.  If she had been more alert, she'd never have been caught so off guard, and the perceived sense of weakness that she felt as sharply as she had at the time was enough to bring back the surge of ugly anger once more . . .

"Never," she muttered, tossing the blankets aside as she swung her legs off the bed.  Something like that would never, ever happen again.  She wouldn't let it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"I . . . don't know that this is a good idea . . ."

Bas Zelig, the future North American tai-youkai shot Ashur a questioning glance, thick arms crossed over his even thicker chest as he shrugged.  "It'll be fine," he insisted, brushing off Ashur's very obvious concern.

"Putting a bokken in that one's hands is a disaster, just waiting to happen," Ashur predicted, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes against the aforementioned disaster.

"Look, Daddy!  Look!" Kells exclaimed, waving the bokken wildly in the air as he hopped up and down like a demented bunny.

Bas whistled sharply.  His son, Bailey straightened his back and held his bokken at his side, as did Bas' foster son, Daniel.  Kells stopped, too, and slowly lowered the one in his hand.  "That's not a toy, Kells," Bas growled, intentionally inflicting enough sternness into his tone to get his message across.  "It's a sword—a weapon—and we do not play around with weapons.  Understand?"

Kells nodded rapidly.  "Sorry!"

"Don't let anyone catch you doing that again."

"Okay!"

"If we catch you swinging it around or otherwise disrespecting it, then you'll have to give it back until we decide you're old enough to have it," Bas warned.

Kells nodded quickly, casting a quick but anxious glance at Ashur, who was mirroring Bas' stern expression.  For a brief second, his lip quivered precariously, but he drew a deep breath and choked down his own upset.

Satisfied that he'd made his point, Bas nodded.  "Okay, boys.  Take turns teaching him now to block," he said to Daniel and Bailey.  "And Bailey?  For the love of all that's holy, take it easy on him.  It's his first lesson."

"Bas . . .?"

"Hmm?"

Ashur cleared his throat.  "Don't take this the wrong way, but . . . You should come live with me for a few weeks . . . Just long enough to get him to behave better . . ."

Bas chuckled.  "Oh, I don't know, Ky-Ash . . . He seems pretty damned well-behaved to me.  Just a little hyper—kind of like Evan, come to think of it."

"Oh, kami," Ashur sighed since he was more than a little familiar with that particular Zelig . . .

"So, Ben tells me that you're letting Myrna's cousin stay with you?  How's that going?"

Ashur never got a chance to answer as the French door behind him opened and the girl in question strolled outside in a thick gray sweater, a pair of black shorts, and a steaming mug of coffee clenched in her hands.  She looked adorably rumpled, her hair sticking up in wild disarray, and when she met his gaze, she nodded mumbling, "Morning," as she lifted the mug to her lips with both hands.

Bas blinked and shook his head, clearing his throat as he glanced at Ashur.  "Myrna's cousin, I take it?"

Jessa nodded.  "Jessa O'Shea," she supplied.

"I'm Bas," he replied with a curt nod.  "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," she said, her gaze shifting over to the boys.  Bailey was showing Kells how to properly hold the bokken.  "What are they doing?" she asked, inclining her head at the boys.

"They're learning how to fight," Ashur said.

"With swords?"

He shot her a glance, only to look back again at the complete and utter confusion on her face.  "Of course," he added.  "Didn't your father know how?"

She slowly shook her head then nodded.  Then shrugged.  "I . . . I don't know," she said.  "I never saw him do so, no . . ."

A strange suspicion crept up his spine, and he frowned.  "Don't you know how to fight?"

She uttered a curt laugh, as though what he'd said was absolutely ridiculous.  "Of course not!" she scoffed.  "That's . . . That's utterly barbaric, don't you think?"

"Actually, no," he replied.  "You mean to tell me that your father didn't even teach you basic self-defense?"  He could see on her face, the very second her mind shut down, closed him off, just as she had done the morning after her arrival when he'd inadvertently said something about her father then, as well.  "I'm not insulting your father," he pointed out.  "I just find it hard to believe that any father wouldn't teach his daughter at least some basic self-defense; that's all."

Bas cleared his throat.  "Well, technically, Dad didn't teach Belle, either . . ."

Ashur shot Bas a quizzical look.  "What?  Wait, _what?_ "

Bas blinked at the odd look he was receiving and shrugged.  "It just never occurred to him to do it, and if Jessa's family weren't the kind that needed to know how to fight, it makes sense that he didn't think to teach her, either."

Ashur rolled his eyes and slowly shook his head as he slowly regarded her.  "I'll teach you," he stated with a marked frown.  "Maybe it was safer for you back in Ireland, but the city can be a fairly scary place.  People get mugged here every day or even attacked . . . Every woman—every _person_ —should know how to defend themselves."

For a split second, he thought that she just might argue with him.  In the end, though, she just bit her lip and nodded.  "Okay," she agreed reluctantly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"You're youkai, so, what can you do?"

Crossing her arms over her chest under the baggy folds of the gray sweatshirt that he'd tossed at her to train in, Jessa cocked her head to the side and slowly regarded him as she considered his question.  "What do you mean?" she finally asked with a shake of her head and a confused frown.

Ashur shrugged as he paced the stone patio under his bare feet.  "I mean," he said, planting his hands on his hips as he kept moving, "you're a fire-bearing-youkai, correct?  How much control do you have over it?"

"You mean, can I start fires?  That sort of thing?"

He nodded, but gave a little shrug.  "Yes, but what I really mean is, can you do it whenever you wish?  Or is it something that you can only do when you're emotionally agitated?"

She didn't look like she was entirely certain, and Ashur pivoted on his heel to point at the wrought iron fire pit nearby.  Striding over to it, he dug into the metal locker off to the side and pulled out a few small logs along with some smaller twigs to drop into the empty pit.  Then he stepped back and gestured at it.  "Can you set it on fire?"

Hooking her hair behind her ear, Jessa scowled at the wood in the pit.  For a minute, nothing happened, and Ashur frowned.  She didn't even know how to harness her own youki to create fire without having it sparked by pure emotion?

' _Just what the hell was her father thinking?  The rest of it?  Okay, but_ this?  _Holy damn_ . . .'

She let out her breath in a sudden whoosh, shaking her head as she furiously rubbed at her forehead.  "I . . . I _can't_ . . ."  She sounded so angry, as though she thought that her failure was of her own making, and a lot of Ashur's initial irritation dissolved.

He sighed and stepped toward her, holding out his hand as he approached.  "Give me your hand," he said, twitching his fingers to encourage her.

She stared at his hand for a long moment before slowly, hesitantly, sticking hers out.  He took it and turned it over gently, palm-side up.  "There . . . Now, concentrate.  Stare at the center point of your hand and concentrate on extending your youki, gathering it there in your palm."

She licked her lips, her brow furrowing as she tried to do what he said.  He stepped behind her, leaned down to whisper in her ear.  "Your element is fire.  You can do this.  Focus on creating a spark.  It doesn't have to be a big one.  Even a small one will do . . . Just see it in your mind . . ."

He blinked as a few little sparks ignited in her hand, only to fizzle out faster than a second.  She tried for another minute before letting out her breath in another loud gasp, her hand dropping as her shoulders slumped slightly.  "I . . . I'll try again in a minute," she said, breathing hard as she shook her head and impatiently shoved an errant lock of hair back behind her ear.

"You're angry," he said softly, stepping around her, frowning at her as he read her aura.  Then he nodded.  "So, we're done."

She shot him a withering glance.  "Done?  But you said—"

"And you're angry," he stated again.  "You cannot learn to control your youki if you're angry."

She glowered at him in an entirely petulant sort of way, crossing her arms over her chest as she lowered her chin and peered up at him through the thick fringe of her eyelashes.  "I'm not angry, I'm _frustrated_ ," she grumbled.  "There's a difference."

"It's still a level of emotion that clouds your rational thought," he maintained, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at her, his expression stony, impassive.  "The clearer your mind, the easier it will be for you to focus your youki and to use it."

The look on her face proclaimed her doubt, and with a loud sigh, Ashur unleashed a surge of youki straight into the ground below the stones where he stood.  A moment later, a sudden quake shook the patio, but not hard enough to disturb the pavement.  Her chin lifted as her eyes opened wide.  "You did that . . ."

"I could have done much worse than that," he told her.  "But even doing that much is a lot more difficult if my emotions are out of my control . . . It’s the difference between one little tremor that cannot be felt five feet from me or wrecking the entire yard and bringing that townhouse down in the process."

She digested that for a moment, a thousand thoughts flitting through her brain as a myriad of emotions surfaced on her features, only to disappear before he could rightfully discern them all.  "Okay," she said, lifting her shoulders as she drew a deep breath and held out her hand again.  Closing her eyes, she breathed slowly, obviously concentrating, and Ashur nodded, his gaze lighting in silent approval, as a tiny spark flickered to life, burning brightly in the palm of her hand . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** lovethedogs ——— cutechick18 ——— lianned88
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _Nice … Now to teach her how to defend herself_ …


	7. Sorry

"Here."

Jessa blinked but caught the device that Ashur tossed to her, turning it over in her hands as she frowned.  "A phone?"

He nodded.  "You don't have one, do you?  I assume you were made to leave yours behind."

She shot him a cursory glance, as though it surprised her that he'd realized as much.  "They didn't let me take anything," she admitted.  "I . . . I had to steal Da's coat . . ."

For some reason, he hadn't thought about that, but it made perfect sense.  Given what Myrna had told him, it wasn't surprising at all; not really.  "The one you were wearing when you got here," he mused.  "I see . . . Do you—your family—have an attorney?  Someone who's looking into all of this for you?"

She didn't look like she wanted to answer as she gathered up the orange peel from the fruit that had comprised her breakfast and hurried over to throw it away, but left the phone on the table.  "I don't know," she admitted.  "I'm sure that Da had one, but . . ."

He nodded slowly, watching her over the rim of his coffee cup as Kells stabbed at his French toast—Ashur's version of it—while making battle sounds the entire time.  "We can look into finding one for you.  As your parents' only child, you should have automatically been named sole heir.  I'll make a few calls, see what I can come up with if you want."

He could tell from the expression on her face that her stubborn pride was about to kick in, and he spoke again to forestall the argument that didn't need to happen.  "I have a bit of experience in this kind of thing," he admitted tightly.  "It's not a problem."

"I can—"

The cup thumped against the tabletop as he sat back and scowled at her.  "Stop that," he stated flatly.  She gathered her hair in one hand over her shoulder, wrapping her other arm over her stomach in a wholly protective kind of way.  "I'm not your enemy, Jessa . . ." He sighed.  "I apologize for what I said the morning after you arrived.  It was thoughtless of me, and I'm sorry that I disparaged your father, especially when you've so recently lost him."

She shot him a quick glance, her cheeks pinking slightly, though he had a feeling it had more to do with irritation than actual anger.  "But you're not sorry you _thought_ it."

He didn't deny it.  "Truce?"

She nodded once, but made no move to come back to the table, which was good enough, as far as Ashur was concerned.  He stood up to refill his coffee cup, but Jessa was faster, grabbing the carafe and stepping around the counter to fill his cup and then hers.

"Me, too!" Kells garbled around a mouthful of food.

Intercepting the raised-eyebrow-ed look from the girl, Ashur rolled his eyes.  "Mostly milk," he said.  "I'll do it."

"I've got it," she insisted, grabbing Kells' sippy cup and hurrying over to the refrigerator to refill it.  Kells watched intently as she poured just a little coffee into the milk in the cup and snapped the lid back on.  "Here," she said, setting the cup on the table near the boy before ruffling his hair and sinking back into the chair she'd vacated earlier.

"Fank you," Kells said as he grabbed the cup and sucked half of it down in one gulp.  "Daddy!  Can we go to the zoo today?"

"Absolutely not, Kells," he replied.

"But I _promise_ I won't let the cougars out of the cage no more."

" _Any_ more, and no."

Kells made a face.

"I could take you to the park if you want," Jessa offered.  She hesitated with her cup of coffee about halfway to her lips.  "If it's all right with your da, that is . . ."

Ashur shrugged.  "You want to take him?"

Her response was pretty much the same.  "I don't mind," she said.  "I think I'd like to see some more of the city."

He frowned.  "Maybe, but just wandering alone or even with a small child in the city when you don't know the different areas is just begging for trouble.  If you'd like, however, I can show you around a little after I make a few phone calls."

"That's not necessary," she murmured, scowling at the table top directly in front of her.  "It's not that far from here . . ."

"Daddy has to come!" Kells argued.  "Daddy's got the monies for the ice creams, and Daddy buys the pellets for the duckies, and Daddy pushes the swings really _high!_ "

He almost smiled at Kells' reasoning, but he didn't.  "Don't forget the guy with the balloons."

Kells gasped, turning wide eyes on Jessa—the pleading look that Ashur was a little too familiar with.  "And the bawoon guy!  So I can get a bawoon!  Oh, oh, oh!  And the picture wady that draws the pictures!"

She rolled her eyes but smiled, and Ashur blinked.  Deep, deep dimples, the added sparkle in her eyes . . . The heightened pinkness in her cheeks . . . "All right, you win," she said.  Her smile dimmed as she slowly, hesitantly shifted her gaze to meet his, biting her bottom lip , her teeth leeching the color from her lip, only to flood back twice as dark as it slipped between her teeth.  "If . . . If you really don't mind . . .?"

All he could do was give a shake of the head.  Maybe.  At least, he thought he did.  The weirdest sensation surged through him, almost like he was falling or riding a roller coaster or something like that . . . It was hard to explain.  It was even harder to make sense of, and in the end, he looked away, cleared his throat as he abruptly got to his feet.  "I'll make those calls now," he muttered.  "Kells, put something on that matches, will you?"

The boy laughed as though Ashur had made a great joke, and he hurried out of the room, frowning at his own odd reaction, he shook his head.

' _Come on, Kyouhei, you know damn well what that was, don't you?_ '

He snorted and closed the office door behind himself.  ' _Indigestion.  That's what it was._ '

' _All right.  Be stubborn if you've a mind to . . . But don't say that I didn't warn you._ '

' _Warn me?  Go away, won't  you?_ '

The youkai-voice sighed.  ' _Yeah, sure . . . Fine, I'll leave you alone, if that's what you want, but one word of advice?_ '

' _What?_ '

' _If you stopped glaring at her all the time, maybe she wouldn't say no every time you offer to do something for her or to take her somewhere . . ._ '

' _I don't glare—_ '

' _And you don't breathe, either,_ ' his youkai scoffed.  ' _You do.  You do it all the time, whether you realize it or not, and doing that?  To her?  Just . . . Just try not to, okay?_ '

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Higher, Daddy!" Kells screamed happily as he kicked his legs on the swing.  Ashur obliged him, and Jessa grimaced, hoping to God that the boy was holding on tight.  A voice deep down told her that surely Ashur wouldn't endanger his own son, but even so, it looked too scary for a child Kells' age . . .

The late March breeze was warm—warmer than usual, if Carol was to be believed.  She'd mentioned as much, as had Charity when she'd taken Jessa shopping.  It was warm enough that Jessa regretted wearing the light sweater she'd chosen for the day.  Carefully refolding the jacket that Kells had tossed at her before dashing off toward the swings, she couldn't help the trace worry that settled in the pit of her stomach as the boy's head rose up higher than the top bar of the swing set as Ashur stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest as he calmly watched his son.

"He wouldn't do anything mad, like try to jump off of that," she asked, wandering over to Ashur's side.

"He probably will," Ashur remarked, sounding just a little too calm about the entire affair.  "I give him another two—three minutes before he gets bored and drags me off to do something else."

"But that's so dangerous!" she insisted, frowning at his cavalier attitude.

"He's tougher than he looks," Ashur said, entirely missing the expression on her face as he watched his son, soaring back and forth.

"Ugh, he's going to break an arm or a leg—or his neck," she muttered.

"Nothing will happen to him," Ashur replied dryly.  "He's charmed."

"Charmed?" she echoed, shaking her head in confusion at the almost fanciful way that Ashur had said that.

He shrugged, letting his gaze drop as he unbuttoned the cuffs of the stark white dress shirt and rolled them up a couple of times.  "From the day he was born," he said.  "I knew that day . . ." Trailing off as he shook his head, she watched as the pensive expression on his face gave way to an almost calculated blankness.  "Nothing will ever hurt him," he stated once more, this time with far more conviction.

"Was it an arranged mating?" she asked, trying for a casual tone as she carefully kept her gaze on the boy, who, thankfully, was slowing down just a little.

"Wh-What?" Ashur stammered.  "Uh . . . N-No.  Nothing like that."

She grimaced, shot him an apologetic glance.  "Sorry," she said.  "I wasn't trying to pry.  I just wondered . . ." Suddenly, she shook her head, hating the flood of color that exploded in her cheeks.  "I guess I just . . . That was a really personal question, and I had no right to ask . . . I don't know what I was thinking.  Please forgive me."

He cleared his throat.  "No, it's, uh . . . It's fine.  It's just a . . . really long story . . ."

"Daddy!  Watch!" Kells hollered, drawing both of their attention.  Jessa gasped loudly when the boy launched himself out of the swing, only to land in a somersault in the pea gravel.  He landed on his bottom, legs kicked out straight, laughing like mad as he shook bits of gravel out of his hair and hopped up, grabbing the waistband of his jeans and yanking them up as he darted over to them again.  "I flew! Did you see, Jessa?  Did you?"

She was still trying to get her racing heart under control, the late fear that he was going to end up, hurting himself still far too close.  "You . . . You did," she murmured as he grabbed her hand.

"C'mon!" he insisted, giving her hand a good tug.  "Cotton candy, Daddy!"

"Good God, no," Ashur snorted as he fell into step beside her.  "Ice cream is pushing it, but a bag full of sugared air?  I don't think so."

"There's no bags, Daddy," Kells insisted.  "It's a stick!"

Ashur grunted.  "And you're totally missing the point, Kells."

Kells giggled, latching onto Ashur's little finger, content to hold onto the both of them.  "Can I paint my face?"

Ashur shot Jessa a longsuffering look over Kells' head as he tugged them toward the right—toward the girl who was set up to paint cute little designs on children's faces.  Jessa almost smiled.

"Daddy wants a happy face!" Kells told the girl, looking entirely too pleased with his own machinations.

Ashur blinked in surprise.  "I do?"

"Yeah!"

Ashur shook his head.  "I really  . . . don't . . ."

Jessa leaned toward him.  "It'd make him really happy, I think."

Ashur leaned toward her.  "He's happy enough, _I_ think."

"Uh uh," she replied.

He made a face and turned back to the girl again.  "And she'd like a unicorn on hers."

"Yay!" Kells hollered, hopping up and down and pinning Jessa with the single most hopeful expression she'd ever seen on anyone's face, ever.

Narrowing her eyes just slightly at Ashur, she let Kells drag her forward and sat down on the small stool made for someone a whole lot shorter than she was.

It didn't take the girl long to paint a small unicorn's head on her left cheek, complete with a few sprinkles of adhesive glitter to add to the overall effect.  By the time she was done, Kells was hopping again, only this time, he dragged Ashur over and demanded that he sit down, too.

Jessa could only assume that Ashur looked at least marginally funnier than she did, trying to sit on that stool. Knees jammed up nearly to his chest, he sat still, with an entirely bored expression on his face as the girl painted the smiley face on his cheek, and she had to wonder just how often this particular scenario played out.  He went along with Kells' antics, which was probably one of the sweetest things she'd ever seen, and she couldn't help the little smile that quirked the corners of her lips as Ashur heaved a sigh and stood up so that Kells could get his face painted, too.

"Does he talk you into this kind of stuff all the time?" she asked quietly as the girl painted cougar spots all over Kells' little face.

He snorted.  "Actually, no," he confessed.  "But I figured I should be a good sport since you were humoring him, too."

She pressed her lips together in a thin line to keep from laughing outright at the entirely disgruntled look on his face.  "It's a very nice smiley face," she assured him.

"I'm going to find the nearest bathroom and wash this off," he muttered.

"He'd be sad if you do," she warned.

"It's not nearly as funny as you seem to think it is."

"Oh, but it is," she argued, digging out her new cell phone and quickly snapping a picture.

"Do me a favor and never, ever show that picture to my brother," he said.

Jessa nearly laughed.  "Tease you, will he?"

"Till the end of time."

"So . . . what else does Kells usually talk you into?"

He shrugged offhandedly, stuffing his hands into his pockets as the spring breeze lifted his bangs, tousled them like the gentle fingers of a lover.  "I made the mistake the last time of letting him have a candied apple.  That's one I won't ever repeat, not for all the tea in China."

"That bad, was it?"

He snorted again and handed the girl a fifty dollar bill as Kells checked himself out in a small hand mirror.  "Nope," he replied evenly.  "It was so much worse than you're imagining . . ."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Jessie, come in here," Stan Brock called out to Jessa as she hurried into the back room to put her jacket in the tiny locker.  Leaning back in the rickety old chair he kept at his desk in the office, it groaned and creaked under his weight.

"Yes?" she said, stepping into the office after closing her locker and snapping the padlock in place.

Stan grinned.  "It's your lucky day, cookie," he told her.  "Shelly's gone, and she ain't coming back, so I need someone to replace her on Friday and Saturday nights."

She frowned and shook her head since Shelly was one of the more popular dancers.  "I'm not interested in dancing," she said.

Stan threw his head back, wheezing out a smoke-corrupted laugh.  "We're talkin' an easy K in one night alone if the miserable mutts like what they see," he said.  "You'd be rollin' in the dough, pretty girl like you—as long as you stay off the candy, that is."  Suddenly, he sighed, slowly shook his head.  "Too many o' you girls, get caught up in that shit," he said.  "Shelly . . . She was a lot like you when she first came in.  Shy, quiet—a good girl—but she got hooked up on coke by her fucktard dealer-boyfriend.  He finds out that the fuzz were planning a sting, and up and leaves Shel with the shit.  Now she's goin' down for a long, long time, and he's gettin' off, scot free . . ."

She rubbed her hands together and nodded.  "Thanks for the offer, but I really can't," she said.  "I'm fine with just waiting tables."

He shrugged.  "You sure?  Just think about it and let me know by Friday."

She pasted on a tepid smile and hurried out of the office before he could try to talk her into it.  She had absolutely no interest in doing any such thing.  It was all she could do, some nights, just to tolerate the regular clientele.  Adding the idea that most of them would have seen her naked up on that stage was something that she simply couldn't tolerate . . . If she could even wrap her head around the idea of parading about, stark naked . . .

"That old bastard offered you Shelly's weekend spots, didn't he?" Carol muttered as she fell into step beside Jessa.

"I told him no," she replied, tying the apron around her waist.

Carol made a face.  "You don't _want_ to do it, do you?"

She shook her head, unable to repress the complete horror in her expression as she shot Carol a disgusted glance.  "God, no!"

Carol looked relieved.  "Good!  I mean, you're just not the type—not that it's a bad thing because it isn't."  She waved her hands, as though to refute her statement.  "If you wanted to, then that'd be one thing, and sure, the money's better . . ."

Something about Carol's tone of voice made Jessa stop, stare at her, frowning at her thoughtfully as she grasped Carol's arm to stop her.  "Did he ask you?"

Carol snorted.  "Of course, he did," she replied, pretty face scrunching up in an irritated kind of way.  "I didn't want it, either." Then she rolled her eyes and laughed.  "Fifty bucks says that Faye marches in there and demands Shelly's spot as soon as she gets in here," she said.

Jessa pulled her hair up and back, catching it in a black cloth-covered rubber band that she'd had around her wrist.  Considering Faye, the black haired beauty of Asian descent, tended to think that she was just that much above every other girl in the place?  "Yeah, you're probably right," she allowed.

Carol made a face.  "That'd be fine by me . . . Get her off of the floor, the hag . . ."

There was no love lost between the two: Carol and Faye.  Some of the other girls had maintained that they had no real idea just why Faye tended to openly despise Carol, and, by extension, Jessa, too.  Jessa, however, had met far too many girls like Faye over the years—usually at boarding school—those girls that hated her for no good reason . . .

"Get out of my way," Faye demanded as she strode down the hallway.

"Speak of the damn devil," Carol muttered, crossed her arms over her chest and refused to yield her position.  If anything, she stepped further into Faye's path.  "Where you going, Faye?" she asked, inflicting enough sweetness into her tone to choke a horse.

Faye smiled insincerely.  "I need to talk to Stan, so move out of my way, Carol."

"Why's that?  You want Shelly's spot, do you?" she countered.

"Maybe," Faye replied, narrowing her eyes on Carol.

"Of course, you want it," Carol went on, just as sweetly as before.  "It's still available.  Jessa and I already turned it down."

Faye's eyes flared at that, and she cast Jessa a condescending glower.  "You?  You can't even dance, Irish," she scoffed.

Carol laughed.  "Are you kidding?  She's taken dance classes for years, Faye.  Granted, probably not street grind crap like you do every night with whatever random John you take home with you, huh?"

Faye snorted, shoving Carol to the side, roughly bumping Jessa with her shoulder as she hurried past.

Carol pivoted on the heel of her patent leather boot to grin as she watched Faye's haughty departure.  "Ah, I love fucking with her . . ."

Jessa made a face.  "Ugh, if my ma knew that all those years of dance class could be used for something like this . . ." Then she giggled.

"It would almost be worth it to take Shelly's spot," Carol mused, "just to mess with her a little more . . ."

Jessa opened her mouth to reply, but the chime of her cell phone caught her attention, and she pulled it out of the apron pocket.  It was Myrna.  Apparently, Ashur had given her Jessa's number, and she was just checking in, she said, to see if things were going all right.  She fired back a quick message and started to drop the device into her pocket once more, but Carol grabbed it.

"I thought you didn't have a phone," she said, opening up the contacts menu to add her number to it.

"I just got it today," she admitted.

"Good!  When you get a minute, text me so I can add you to mine," she replied.  Clicking out of the menu, she fiddled around with it for another minute.  "Then I can . . . Oh . . . Oh, _my_ . . . Who's the hottie?"

Glancing around Carol's arm, Jessa grimaced at the picture she had opened—the one she'd taken of Ashur with the smiley face on his cheek.  He wasn't smiling, but he did look somewhat amused, bright blue eyes sparkling in the early afternoon sunshine as his clubbed-back, sun-streaked blonde hair fell over his shoulder.

"He's a, uh, family friend," she muttered, hoping that it would be enough to get Carol to drop it.

"A family friend?  Have you fucked him?"

She grimaced inwardly.  "It's not like that," she grumbled, unable to staunch the flow of blood into her cheeks as she grabbed the phone back and shoved it into her pocket.

"It should be like that," Carol insisted.

"Get moving!" Rock hollered, leaning around the corner as he frowned at them.  "The other girls are complaining because you're taking your sweet time!"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, okay," Carol replied, shaking her head as she adjusted her breasts in her black push-up bra.  "You're not off the hook, you know.  You're going to tell me more about that guy," she insisted, grabbing Jessa's arm to hurry her down the hallway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Back to regular posting schedule, so this is Friday's chapter.  See you on Monday, if anyone else is reading lol_.
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
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> ==========
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>  ** _MMorg  
> _** xSerenityx020
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>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda Gauger ——— minthegreen
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> ==========
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>  ** _Forum  
> _** lovethedogs ——— lianned88 ——— cutechick18
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> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _Dancing at the club?  Yeah, no_ …


	8. Chaos

"There!" Jessa exclaimed softly, proudly displaying the flame that was merrily dancing in the center of her palm.  "Fire."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Ashur nodded.  "Good," he said, sounding just a little condescending.  "Now that you can do that, can you throw it?"

She stared at him for a long moment before she drew her hand back and tried to toss the flame.  It sputtered out before it left her palm.  Then she turned to eye him once more.  "Are you joking?" she demanded, looking more and more skeptical by the second.  "Is that really possible?"

He frowned at her like he was trying to decide if she were being serious or not.  "If you were fighting with someone, wouldn't it benefit you more to be able to throw your fire at someone rather than to stand there and hold it till they got close enough for you to burn them?"

She started to tell him that he was being ridiculous, but stopped when a vague memory sparked to life in her head.  That day when the Gardai had showed up to escort her off her parents' property . . . That day, she'd set fire to the officer's cuff, and she wasn't touching him at the time, either . . .

"I . . . I lit a fire," she admitted quietly.  "I don't know how I did it, but I know I did . . ."

"When?"

She shook her head, crossing her arms over her stomach as she pondered it.  "The day they made me leave," she said.  "I set the officer's sleeve on fire so, and then I grabbed Da's coat . . ."

He considered that for a moment.  "But you were obviously upset, right?  And that's why you don't know how you did it."

She shot him a chagrined sort of scowl as a handful of dirt went flying past her face, and she blinked.

Kells giggled.  "Look, Daddy!  I frew earf!"

Ashur choked slightly then coughed.  "You promised you'd sit there quietly, Kells," he reminded the child.

Kells giggled some more, dusting off his tiny hands, but hopped back into the chair he'd vacated at the start of the lesson, picking up his handheld Kid-Tab 6000xz to play with the learning games stored on it.

Turning his attention back to her once more, Ashur frowned.  "Why don’t you try concentrating on setting fire to the wood in the pit?" he asked, nodding at the kindling.  "Just stretch your youki . . ."

She pivoted, stared at the wood in the fire pit, careful to keep her mind calm, serene, but it didn't help.  As hard as she tried, nothing happened, and she drew a deep breath, tried to focus on what she wanted to do, to no avail.

She was concentrating so hard that she didn't hear Ashur slip up behind her—didn't know he was there until he spoke in her ear.  "Let go, Jessa," he rumbled softly.  "Don't hold your youki so close to you.  If you let it flow around you, you'll be able to use it, like . . . like how copper can conduct electricity.  Your youki is an extension of you.  If you let it, it can become another sense, like touch or taste or feel . . . You'll sense the intentions of those around you as they come into contact with your youki, and you can use it to create the spark you need for your fire, too . . . Now, relax it . . . and then try . . ."

She did as she was told, trying her best to ignore the feeling of being absolutely vulnerable as her youki spread, haltingly at first, as though it was as reluctant to do so as she was.  Letting her eyes close for a moment, it was like she could feel exactly what he was talking about: the curious brush of his youki, the underlying excitement in Kells' . . . She could feel objects but not in a tactile sense.  No, it was more of an understanding of what and where things were.

Focusing her attention on the feel of the wood in the pit, she willed her youki to spark, concentrated on the idea of a full burn . . .

"Don't get frustrated," Ashur murmured in her ear.  "I can feel the tension rising in you.  Let go of it, Jessa . . . You've almost got it."

With a small gasp, her eyes flashed open just in time to see the kindling ignite in a small flame.  It wasn't big, it wasn't fancy, but it was there, and she smiled.  "Like that . . ." she said, more to herself than to Ashur.

He nodded, his gaze brightening as he watched the flame spread and grow.  "Exactly like that.  If you keep practicing, you'll learn to control the intensity of your fire with ease."

"How old were you when you started training?"

He shrugged and seemed a little surprised by her question.  "I was taught things from the beginning," he said.  "But my true training began when I was Kells' age."

"I . . . kind of remember . . . Da . . ." She frowned as the half-forgotten memory surfaced in her mind: her father and the ring of torches . . . "There was an area on the estate—a clearing in the forest—where he used to take me when I was small . . . There were torches . . . Lots of torches, and he would stand in the middle and close his eyes, and he'd light them, all at once . . . I thought it was like magic . . ."

Somewhere, deep down, she'd thought that he would laugh at her for saying such a fanciful thing.  He didn't, but he did seem a little amused.  "And he never taught you how to light them?"

She shook her head.  "I think that was around the time that I started taking dance lessons . . . piano lessons . . . dressage . . ."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but he shook his head slowly instead.  "Are you tired?" he asked.  "Take a break."

"I'm fine," she said.  "I can keep practicing."

"Not that, not right now," he told her.  "The longer you practice at a time, the more likely you'll either get frustrated or you'll exhaust yourself mentally.  Best to work on it just a little every day."

She nodded, even though she didn't quite agree.  "So, does that mean we're done?"

He shook his head.  "Nope.  It means that you're going to take a break, and then we'll work on your self-defense skills.  I'll meet you in the basement in a few minutes."

She made a face but headed toward the doors to get a bottle of water.  Kells hopped up to come with her.  "You can make fire!" the boy exclaimed.  "That's _co-o-o-ol!_ "

"Do you think so?" she asked, smiling at the child.

Kells nodded happily.  "And now you get to frow Daddy around!"

She sighed, yanking open the refrigerator and retrieving a bottle of water.  Kells grabbed his juice cup before she closed the door.

That was the part she didn't like, if she were to be completely honest.  During the first few lessons, he'd taught her how to use an attacker's forward momentum to toss him, and if she'd done it once, she had to have done it a hundred times in the course of the last few days, and, while he didn't complain, she had to wonder just how okay he was with the idea that she kept tossing him around like a rag doll . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ashur landed flat on his back with a heavy grunt for the fourth time in about ten minutes and hopped back to his feet, ignoring the groaning in his muscles that protested the movement.  "Okay, I think you've got that," he said, ignoring the aches from the physical exertion.  "Let's try  something else."

"Daddy!  Can I try to frow you, too?"

Waving a hand at Kells, Ashur shook his head.  "I don't suppose you took any kind of martial arts in all those lessons you had."

Jessa shook her head.  "No . . ."

He nodded since he'd already figured as much.  "Okay, tossing someone coming at you is fine, and you've pretty well gotten that down perfectly, but not everyone's going to run at you, either.  In fact, most of them wouldn't unless they're trying to mug you.  The most important thing you need to learn is to always allow your youki to float around you.  Not only does it help in that you can potentially attack faster that way, but it also will help you sense the safety of your surroundings . . . For example, if someone is running up behind you, you'll sense them through your youki well before they reach you, but if you keep your youki close to you like you tend to do most of the time, then you'll have no warning."

A strange sort of expression crossed her face, but was gone before he could read it.  She nodded slowly, and a moment later, her youki brushed over his as she let it out, though it was pretty obvious to him that she didn't actually like doing so.

"Why do you keep it so close?" he asked before he could stop and think about it.

She frowned, pulling a long strand of hair over her shoulder, idly twisting it around her finger, over and over again.  "I feel . . . I-I don't know . . . Naked?"  Shaking her head, she made a face.

"Vulnerable," he concluded.  It made sense, he supposed.  "You're not, though, even if it does feel counterintuitive to you.  That's your first and best defense."

"All right," she replied.

"Anyway, if someone comes directly at you, you throw them, at which point you can and should just get the hell out of there because you won't know if they have a gun or something —humans especially are pretty bad about that.  Youkai usually don't stoop to using those, but there are exceptions, so if you don't know, then it's best to immobilize them and run."

Crossing her arms over her chest since he'd already told her this before, she shrugged.  "Do you run away?"

"I can't say that I ever have, no," he admitted.  "But then, I'm also fully trained, and I know how to fight."

"So, after you're done training me . . ."

"Absolutely not," he stated flatly.  "A young girl that looks like you?  Chances are good that someone who would attack you would be a man, and he'd probably not just be after your purse.  If someone attacks you, you need to run."

She snorted.  "That's entirely sexist."

He didn't look impressed by her sulky reply.  "It's also entirely true."

"I don't know," she mused, leaning her head to the side as she slowly regarded him.  "If that's your logic, then you'd be attacked all the time.  I mean, you're far prettier than I am . . ."

He grunted at her flip response.  "Moving on," he said when Kells giggled.  "The next thing you need to know is that if a man is trying to get too close to you, before he manages it, always remember that no man, human or youkai, is going to be able to chase you if you kick him between the legs."

"Isn't that considered dirty fighting?"

"I'd consider rape to be dirtier."

She snapped her mouth closed on whatever she was planning to say as her cheeks lit up in a becoming flush.

Satisfied that he'd made his point, he grunted.  "Anyway, if someone is trying to attack you, and he's near enough, kick him as hard as you can, and then you run.  If he's coming at you too fast to kick him—" Ashur dashed toward her.  She gasped but only raised her hands to cover her face, and he growled as he grabbed her wrists and forced them down.  "Do not do that," he scolded, letting go of her hands.  Then he sighed.  "Don't block your vision, no matter what.  If someone charges at you like I just did, you snap out your arm."

She looked thoroughly confused, and he rolled his eyes but demonstrated, snapping his arm straight out with his palm raised, fingers curled back.  Then he drew his arm back and tapped the heel of his hand with his fingers.  "This is what you hit with.  Don't try to punch him; you'll only hurt your knuckles.  Don't use your claws because that would leave too many unanswerable questions later on.  When you do this, remember: it's the speed with which you hit that makes it more powerful, and always, always aim for the heart.  Aim past your opponent and lock your elbow when you snap your arm out.  Show me."

She did, and he nodded.  "Now, as you do that, step forward.  Step into the motion.  Again."

She repeated the motion another couple times.

"Good.  Now draw your hand back, and twist your body so that you have more momentum going into the hit, and then snap it forward . . . Good."

"Like this, Daddy?"

Ashur glanced over and nodded as Kells demonstrated the move.  "Yes, Kells, just like that."

Kells grinned, but suddenly, he frowned.  "Daddy!  Do I kick men in between the legs, too?"

He pressed his lips together in a thin line as Jessa stopped, her arm outstretched, to raise her eyebrows at him.  "No, Kells, you wouldn't do that.  You will know how to fight—and when to fight, too."

She rolled her eyes and snorted.

"Okay," he said, taking a few steps back.  "Try to hit me."

"Wh-What?" she stammered as he ran toward her.  She barely had time to react, but she did manage to snap her arm straight out, whipping her face to the side as she squeezed her eyes closed and uttered a terse squeak.

Ashur frowned at her.  Her arm had bent as he moved forward, so her strike had been rendered completely useless.  "You have to keep your arm extended," he told her, "and don't look away."

She scowled at the perceived scolding, and Ashur shook his head.  "All right, it's too soon.  You can practice on that dummy over there," he said, waving his hand at one of the practice dummies on the other side of the room.  "Just practice till you're comfortable with it," he told her.  "You'll get it."

She still didn't look very pleased, but she nodded once, grasping the top of her ponytail and yanking her hair to tighten it.

"Me, too, Daddy?  Do I need to pwatise?"

Ashur rubbed the boy's hair affectionately and nodded.  "You, too," he said.

Kells ran off happily, following Jessa over to the dummies.

Ashur sighed and slowly shook his head.  Her form was good, and she tended to be light on her feet, no doubt from the years of dance lessons.  All she really needed was some practice and a little self-confidence, but he had a feeling that she'd be able to hold her own sooner rather than later . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Two whiskey shots and two draft Bud Lights, please," Jessa said, leaning on the bar as she waited for the drinks.

Keith, the bartender closest to her, nodded and grabbed two smudgy shot glasses.  Carol and she were having a bet as to whether or not Keith was gay—Carol said he had to be since he tended to always look like he'd just stepped out of the pages of the latest, trendiest fashion magazines.  Jessa was almost positive that he wasn't, and, considering how often she caught him giving her the hard eye, she figured that Carol was going to have to pay up in the form of a new pair of brown suede ankle boots that they'd seen the other night in one of the storefront windows as they were walking home.  The price tag had said four-hundred-fifty bucks.  Jessa thought they were pretty damn hot . . .

"Heard you were offered Friday and Saturdays," he said, slipping the shots onto the tray for her before reaching for a couple of mugs out of the cooler.  "You taking it?"

She shook her head, leaning on her elbows.  "And miss out on being groped by all the drunks?  Are you kidding?"

He laughed.  She didn't miss the way the spiky blonde spared a moment to give her cleavage a good once-over.  At least it didn't make her want to run and hide anymore, so there was that . . . "You know, you've got Faye in quite a snit."

"What's new?" Jessa countered.  "She's always got issues with someone, doesn't she?"

He grinned, showing off the deep dimples in his cheeks.  The ladies that came in seemed to love him, and Jessa figured that it had something to do with that.  He slipped the first beer onto the tray and started filling the second.  "Yeah, well, to hear her tell it, you stole some of her regulars—a few of the bigger tippers, too.  If you slipped them a nip glimpse, bet they'd tip you even more."

"I did no such thing," she insisted despite the smile on her face as she winked at him and grabbed the tray.

Slipping between tables, she was thankful for her youkai vision since the already weak lights suddenly dropped by about half in the room as the colored spotlights flooded the stage, as a raunchy, slow, grinding song blared out over the PA system and one of the girls—Candy—strode out from behind the faded black curtains and started her nurse routine.  Jessa moved over to the table to drop off the drinks.  "Here you go," she said, setting the beers on the table.  "And your shots . . . Can I get you anything else?"

"How about your phone number?"

She smiled and shrugged.  "Sorry.  I don't have a phone," she lied.  It was a convenient enough excuse, especially when most of the regulars knew that the girls had no trouble giving out their digits on a regular basis.

"How about we buy you a drink, sweetie?" the other one said.

"Sorry," she said, her cheeks hurting from the fake smile she tended to use pretty much all night while she was working.  "Not allowed to drink on the clock."

"Well, that's no fun . . . When's your break?"

She shrugged.  "As busy as it is tonight?  I doubt I'll get one."  She stepped back.  "Holler if you need anything else."

She turned to go, heading toward another table of a guy that she recognized.  He usually didn't come in until Thursdays, so he was a little early in the week.  He was a nice enough guy: a little quiet, a little shy, but he was polite, which was refreshing in a place like this, and, even though he seemed a little more on the nerdy side than most of the guys who ventured in here, there was something kind of sweet about him, in a brotherly kind of way.  "Hey, Jimmy.  How's it going?"

"Jessie," he greeted with a grin.  "Just the girl I was hoping to see."

"You want your usual?" she asked.

"Well, I, uh . . ."

Her smile faded as she leaned an elbow on the table and frowned at him.  "Are you okay?"

"Y-Y-Yeah," he blurted, cheeks reddening enough that she could see it, even in the dimmed light of the bar.  "I . . . I have a question for you."

"For me?" she asked, eyebrows lifting in surprise.  "Okay."

He dug into the pocket of his cheap suit jacket—he'd obviously come in straight from the hopelessly boring job he had at a bank, he'd told her before.  She could only blink and stare, eyes wide, as he drew out a velvet ring box and opened it with trembling fingers.  "W-Will you marry me?" he blurted.

She stepped back in retreat as two things occurred to her.  The first thing?  "Oh, uh, I  . . . I can't . . . I mean, I'm sorry, but . . . No . . ."  The second?

Gasping out loud as a very strong hand closed around her forearm and yanked her around, she smothered a groan when she came face-to-face with the one person she really would rather not have run into here, of all places . . .

"Put that away, you little bastard," he growled at the poor man who looked like he was ready to cry before turning his attention on her once more.  "And tell me: just what the hell are you doing in a place like this dressed like that, Jessa?" Ashur demanded.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
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> ==========
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>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Quinn ——— Silent Reader ——— xSerenityx020 ——— Sora
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>  ** _AO3  
> _** Alice ——— minthegreen ——— monsterkittie
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>  ** _Forum  
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from Ashur**_ :  
>  _I swear to God, I'm going to beat her ass_ …


	9. Confrontation and Compromise

"And tell me: just what the hell are you doing in a place like this dressed like that, Jessa?"

"A-Ashur . . ."

He must have gotten tired of waiting for a more prolific answer, because he said nothing as he dragged her through the bar and toward the front doors, and Jessa's resistance seemed to mean nothing to the stubborn man—if he even noticed at all.  ' _Curse him for being so ridiculously strong,_ ' she fumed as she tried to yank herself free.

Rock stepped into their path, arms crossed over his chest, and, while he was enough of a mountain to make a human think twice, Ashur made to step around him, only stopping when  Rock moved over to block his way.  "Look, pal, I don't know who you are, but you'd better let go of her unless you want to tangle with me."

Ashur didn't blink and didn't let go of Jessa, either, his free hand flashing out in a blur of motion, connecting with Rock's jaw, sending the bouncer flying back into the wall as he dragged Jessa out onto the street.  "If you know what's good for you, you will not speak until we get home," he growled from between clenched teeth.

She wrenched her arm, jerked away from him, only to cross her arms over her chest as she glared up at him.  "Are you mad?" she blasted.  "Have you lost your mind?  You could have hurt him!"

He snorted, planting his hands on his hips as he glowered back at her.  "You're right.  I could have.  I didn't, but I could have."

She rubbed her forehead, struggling to get a grip on her own rising temper as she turned on her heel and started back toward the club.

He grabbed her arm again.  "Forget it.  You're not going back in there, ever again."

"I have to finish my shift!"

He stared at her for a moment, but he must have decided that he was done arguing with her because he dragged her into the alley beside the club, only to let go of her just long enough to pick her up with absolutely no effort despite the fact that she was struggling to get free.  Then he leapt onto the building and set off at a sprint across the rooftops so fast that she gasped and grabbed onto him, just in case he thought to drop her.

They reached Ashur's townhouse in ridiculously short order, but he refused to put her down until they were inside.  By the time he did, however, she was well beyond 'angry' and fast approaching 'beyond all reason' . . .

"Move," she said, crossing her arms over her chest as she scowled at him.

"You are not going back there," he growled, refusing to move away from the door.  "What the hell were you _thinking?_ "

"I was _thinking_ that I need a job!" she yelled back.  "Now, no thanks to you, I've probably been fired!"

"Good.  You don't need a job.  You need a _warden!_ "

She was dangerously close to losing her temper entirely, and she strode over to him, poking him in the center of his chest to emphasize her words.  "Yes, well, you don't even want me here, so get out of my way!  I've almost got enough saved up to move out, and—"

He snorted indelicately.  "Why do you think I don't want you here?" he challenged.

"You made it pretty obvious from the beginning!" she yelled.

"That wasn't about you," he growled.  "I didn't—" Cutting himself off abruptly, he dragged his hands over his face and heaved a heavy sigh in an attempt to calm himself down.  "Never mind.  It's not important.  I don't mind having you here.  Just where do you think you'd find a place that you could afford on tips?"

She shook her head.  "A friend," she said, wondering why she was bothering to try to explain herself to him, in the first place.  "She told me that she has a spare room."

"A friend of yours?" he echoed as he narrowed his eyes on her, gaze flashing with an angry fire as he drew his own conclusions.  "From that bar."

"Does it matter?"

He snorted again.  "And just what the hell do you think Myrna would say if she found out that  her cousin is working at a strip club?"

"Don't pretend that she cares," she shot back.  "Don't presume to tell me anything!  What do you know?  You have money.  You have a home.  You have a family.  I don't have any of these things, and I'm stuck here, in a house where I’m not wanted, and I have no way of even buying myself the barest of necessities, so yes, I needed a job— _any_ job—and I found one that pays well, and you have no right to judge me!"

"What do you mean, I have no right?  Do you even see what you're wearing?  Every last detail of your body is right there, on display, and if you don't care enough about yourself to cover up certain parts of you, then that _is_ a problem!"

"It's none of your business!" she insisted.

"You're not going back there, ever," he growled.  "If you try, I'll turn that place in for hiring a minor."

She snorted.  "That's not a problem anymore."

"Since when?"

"Since _midnight!_ "

For some reason, her admission seemed to bring him up short, and, while he still looked angry, there was something else there, too, and if she weren't so irritated, maybe she could interpret it.  As it was, though, she glared at him for another long moment before turning on her heel and stomping off toward the sanctity of her room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He watched her go, frowning at her back—at the tiny slip of a skirt that barely covered her ass, at the three inch stiletto heels, at the black halter top that exposed too much of her belly, cut too low in front that he knew damn well that she wasn't wearing a bra.  Hell, the ties from the apron she was still wearing hung down past the hem of that skirt.  All in all, he figured that he had every reason to come unglued when he'd stepped into that kami-forsaken excuse for a club, only to find that foolish human proposing to her, of all things . . .

' _You can at least admit that it bothered you, you know._ '

Ignoring the wry statement from his youkai-voice, he made a face.  Just how long had she been working there, anyway?  Sneaking out a night when he'd thought that she'd gone to bed . . .?

And it was Kells who had inadvertently tipped him off.  He'd left one of his toys in Jessa's room, he'd said, but he couldn’t go get it because she always locked her door when she went to work.  It had taken Ashur about five minutes to ascertain that she was gone, and he'd known, hadn't he, that there weren't any decent jobs that she'd have to work overnight doing.  So, he'd dropped Kells off at Ben's for an impromptu sleep-over and had tracked her down . . .

' _But you heard what she said, didn't you?  She didn't feel welcome here from the start, and if you were her, you'd want to get out, too._ '

' _That's ridiculous!  I gave her a place to stay, didn't I?  What was I supposed to do?  Throw her a welcome party?_ '

' _No, but you could have tried a little harder.  She'd just lost her parents, remember?  And Kells told you—_ '

' _That he loved her; yeah, sure . . ._ '

' _Baka!  Think back!  Think about what Kells said that first morning._ '

' _What he said . . .?  How the hell am I supposed to remember?  Kells talks all the damn time!_ '

His youkai sighed.  ' _He said that she was crying.  Do you remember?_ '

" _I sweep wif Jessa . . . She was cryin'_."

"She was . . . crying . . ." he muttered to himself.

' _Now, do you understand?  She had to leave everything she knew, everything she loved, only to come here and find out that her cousin didn't have time for her, either, and even if you weren't_ unkind _to her, per se, you weren't_ nice _to her, not at all.  You never even once asked her if she was okay.  Even if she lied to you and said that she was fine, it wouldn't matter, would it, because the point is that you still didn't bother to ask, and all that time, she's been alone . . . and you, better than anyone, know what that feels like, don't you?_ '

Rubbing his face with his hands, Ashur heaved a sigh into his palms.  Yeah, he supposed he did know—knew just how it felt to be entirely alone, to feel as though everyone in the world was watching and whispering and judging . . . The complete destruction of his family's honor was harsh enough, but those looks, those whispers . . . The ones that stopped the very second he walked into the room or when they saw him, walking down the street, and then, Kells . . .

' _The two of you—Jessa and you—are far more alike than you know, and maybe she needs you in the same way that you needed Kells in the beginning . . ._ '

And that was true, too.  In those days following his parents' deaths, when the gravity of what he'd done had slowly taken hold of him, as he'd tried to deal with the shock and rage of what Hana had done, the only thing that had drawn him out of his self-imposed isolation was the crying of the tiny infant—the life he'd saved because he hadn't had a choice—Kells . . .

But Jessa . . .

Heaving a sigh, he pushed himself away from the door and frowned at the panel for a moment before pushing the button to lock everything down, including the windows since he wasn't entirely certain that Jessa wouldn't try to sneak out again.  For some reason, though, doing that bothered him more than he could credit.

' _And just what did she mean, when she said that you couldn't report that place for employing an underage waitress?_ ' his youkai pondered slowly.  ' _She said it wasn't a problem anymore . . ._ '

"Since . . . midnight . . .?"  He frowned.  "But that . . . would mean . . ."

Eyes flaring wide as slow realization dawned on him, Ashur strode through the house and tapped on the closed door that led to the maid's quarters.  She didn't answer.  He didn't expect that she would, but to his surprise, it was unlocked.

The first thing that he noticed when he opened the door was the soft, sad, vague smell of tears that hung in the air, and he grimaced.

' _Just do us both a favor and take it easy on her,_ ' his youkai warned him as he stepped into the hallway and headed for the stairs.  ' _Give her a reason not to want to run right back to that place.  We can't lock her into the house forever, especially now, but if we let her go, let her move in with her friend or whatever, you know as well as I do that that's a really bad idea . . ._ '

' _I know,_ ' he replied tersely as he stepped off the stairs onto the hallway landing.  Her bedroom door was open.  She had to know that he was there.  He heard her suddenly sniffle, as though she were trying to choke back her emotions, felt the way her youki constricted, withdrawing from the space as she pulled it in close.  "Happy birthday," he said, leaning against the doorframe, digging his hands into his pockets as he stared at her, bathed in the melancholy radiance that spilled over her where she sat in the window seat, her feet drawn up, her thin arms wrapped around her legs, her hands locked together around her ankles, her hair spilling around her like a fiery cloak of curls and tangles and moonlight and shadows.

She didn't answer him.  She didn't even acknowledge him.  He could sense her irritation, though he somehow understood that it was directed more at herself, at her inability to hold full control over her emotions, than it was at him, but the underlying sense of sadness, of a despair so deep and so cutting that it nearly made him wince, was far, far worse, far uglier than anything else in the world could be.

He sighed.  "You . . . You don't belong in a place like that," he told her.  "Your parents—"

"—Aren't here for me to ask," she interrupted quietly, her voice a little rough, a little ragged.

He nodded.  She didn't see it.  "I deserved that," he allowed.  "But you have to know that they wouldn't want you working in a dive like that."

"Stan asked me to take over one of the girl's shifts on Friday and Saturday nights," she told him.  "As a dancer."

She was baiting him; he could feel it.  It didn't stop him from scowling at her, though.  "I hope you had enough sense to tell him no," he remarked tightly.

"I'm not stupid," she muttered.  "Waiting tables is fine.  Taking my clothes off?  Can't say that it interests me—but then, at least your behavior could have been expected."

"I'm not going to apologize for getting you out of there."

She let out a deep breath.  "I didn't expect you would."  The silence grew, thicker and heavier as the seconds ticked away on the small clock on the nightstand.  "Of course, that just leaves me right back where I started: no job, no nothing . . . and no way to get one, considering I don't have a green card or a work permit here . . ."

He frowned since he hadn't actually considered just why she'd have chosen to get a job in that disgusting hole that called itself a night club.  No, he supposed she couldn't find a decent job, could she, not under those conditions . . . "If you . . . If you want a job, then I'd be happy to pay you to help me with Kells," he said.  "I have meetings and things that I cannot take him to, and he likes you."

"You mean, like a nanny?"

He considered that, wondering if there was something he was missing before he answered since she sounded like she was on the cusp of being very offended.  "Yes," he finally replied, carefully measuring his words, his tone.  "Exactly like that."

She didn't answer right away.  "Is this some sort of handout?"

"Handout?  No," he scoffed.  "My brother and Charity usually watch him, but they're getting ready to move to Maine, and even if they weren't, I need to move to Canada soon, so having someone I can trust with Kells is very important to me."

Something he'd said gave her pause, and for the first time since she'd retreated to her room, she slowly turned her head to look at him.  Her face was hidden in the deepest shadows, though, so he couldn’t actually make out her expression, but her youki seemed to quiet by degrees as the pinpoints of light that were her eyes flickered when she blinked.  "You . . . You trust me with Kells?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.  "You . . . You do?"

He nodded.  "I do."  For some reason, she seemed to be stuck on the idea that he trusted her, but then, maybe that wasn't so surprising.  Trust, in Ashur's world, was a difficult thing to come by, after all . . . Maybe it was in hers, too . . .

"I . . . I like him, too," she replied at length.  "He's a very sweet little boy."

Ashur grunted.  "I assure you, it's not because of my influence."

"Well, no, I didn't think so," she said, and even though he couldn't see her face, he had a feeling that she might well be smiling just a little.  "All right," she agreed slowly, "but . . . can I ask you a question?"

"No, you're not going back to that club, no matter what reason you might try to give me."

She flicked her hand in blatant dismissal without lifting it from her ankle.  "It's not that.  It's just . . ."

"Just what?"

She swung her legs off the window seat, tilting her head to the side as she continued to stare at him.  "It's none of my business, of course, but . . . But what happened?  To Kells' mother . . .?"

Pushing away from the doorframe, Ashur slowly strode over, sat on the seat beside her, staring straight ahead at the opposite wall, at the painting of a single purple iris on a cream colored canvas.  "I . . . adopted him," he said simply.  "He's my . . . my brother."

"Oh . . . Then that's why . . ."

Ashur frowned, turning his head to face her while she kept her gaze deliberately trained on the floor under her feet.  "He doesn't know anything about it, and I prefer to keep it that way," he said.  "You understand."

She nodded.  "I-I'm sorry," she blurted.  "I was just curious.  I mean, there's no woman here, and . . . I wasn't trying to pry . . ."

"It's fine," he assured her.  "I just . . . I don’t usually tell anybody anything.  They can draw whatever conclusion they want, but I guess your question makes sense."

She sighed.  "I . . . I thought maybe it was an arranged thing—that you have a mate, but . . ."

He snorted.  "There are no such thing as arranged marriages anymore," he scoffed.  "That's archaic, and—"

"It's done sometimes," she ventured, sounding just a little too casual about the entire affair.  "Some youkai asked my father to arrange one for me and his son . . . Da said no, of course, but . . . but I heard him discussing it with my mother . . . Fancied himself to be the next Marquess of Aumberlese."

The bitterness in her tone surprised him.  "That's . . ."

"Barbaric," she supplied.  "That's what my ma said."

He shook his head.  "Your ma was right."

She looked at him, her eyes catching the faint moonlight, the reddish hue seeming to glow in the shadows.  She seemed surprised, a little disconcerted, almost as if she hadn't really expected him to understand the very real horror, the disgust, that a question like that had even been raised.  Yet, she didn't say anything, and neither did he.  Words weren't necessary—maybe even a little evil—as they stared at each other in the companionable darkness as the night around them lengthened and grew . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader ——— xSerenityx020
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** monsterkittie ——— minthegreen ——— Amanda+Gauger
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** lovethedogs ——— cutechick18
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from Jessa**_ :  
>  _That explains it …_


	10. Starting Over

"Daddy!"

"Shh," Ashur muttered, casting Kells a dark look as he slipped a balloon over the nozzle of the helium tank and turned it on.

Kells held up his finger to his lips.  "Why we whispering, Daddy?"

"I told you, Kells.  It's Jessa's birthday, and we're going to have a small party for her."

"Oh, a party!" he exclaimed at the absolute border between whispering and yelling.  "Wif Uncle Ben and Aunt Chaiwwy and Nadi and Emmy?"

He started to say, 'no', but stopped and considered it.  "Uh, yeah, I guess we can call and see if they're busy."

"But we can't tell Jessa or she won't have her birfday!"

He opened his mouth to correct the boy, but stopped and gave an inward shrug. "Yeah, sounds good," he agreed.

Kells ran over, grasping the sides of his pants to pull the legs up off the floor since the pair he'd chosen for the day were still a little too big for him.  He dug into Ashur's pocket for his cell phone and made quick work of unlocking it and locating Ben's number in the recent call list.  Shaking his head slowly and thinking yet again that Kells was just a little smarter than any two-nearly-three year old ought to be, Ashur tied the last balloon and let it go.  It floated up to the ceiling high above as he turned his attention to the child with the phone.

"Uncle Ben!" Kells whispered.  "We're havin' a party for Jessa, and you guys come, too."  He paused for a moment then giggled.  "It's her birfday!  I want a truck!"

Ashur hunkered down to whisper, "It's not your birthday, Kells."

"But when it was Nadi's birfday, we got a pwesent for Emmy," he pointed out.

For the third time, Ashur closed his mouth on his retort and shrugged.  Of course, he could point out that, since they were twins, Nadia and Emmeline's birthday were on the same day, but then, Ben could easily afford a present for Kells, too.  "Okay, but not that fire truck with the ungodly siren."

"Here, Daddy," Kells said, jamming the phone under Ashur's nose.  "Uncle Ben wants to talk to you.  It's time for _Monster Rangers!_ "

Heaving a sigh as he pushed against his knee to stand up, Ashur held the phone to his ear and headed for the small office while Kells dashed into the living room to watch his favorite television show of the week.  "Not the fire truck?"

"If you buy that damned thing, I'll disown you forever," Ashur warned dryly.  "Anyway, if you can make it, that'd be nice—unless you bring a bloody fire truck for the little tyrant.  Then I'll be forced to kick your ass."

Ben chuckled.  "Uh . . . Any suggestions for the birthday girl?"

Ashur snorted.  "Cash," he muttered.

"Come again?"

This time, Ashur sighed again.  "I have no idea what to get an eighteen year old girl, no," he confessed.  "I don't even know if she'll like what we chose for her."

Ben grunted.  "Well, I'm sure Charity will have something in mind that she'd like.  Do you want me to get you a backup gift?  You know, in case she doesn't like what you got her.  What time do you want us to come over?"

Clearing his throat, he frowned at the desk.  "No . . . I mean, she's old enough to pretend she likes it, anyway, so there's that . . . Anyway, would you mind picking up a cake, too?"

"Anything else?" he asked.

Ashur raked a hand through his hair and made a face that Ben couldn't see.  "Give me a break.  I just found out last night that today's her birthday, so all of this is a little off the cuff, so to speak."

"Where is she now?"

"Right now?  As far as I know, she's in her room, reading a huge book with a picture of a couple locked into a ridiculously torrid embrace.  She picked it up on the store when we went to get a few groceries."  He snorted.  "She gave me 'The Look' and told me not to judge her."

"You mean, she's reading a romance novel."

"If that's what you want to call it," he muttered.

"Charity reads those from time to time, too, and then she asks me why I'm not a pirate and weird stuff like that."

"I'm pretty sure that I just don't want to hear this," Ashur replied, "and if you tell me that you've cosplayed as Jack Sparrow, I may never speak to you again."

Ben grunted.  "No, and don't you dare mention that to her, either."

"Anyway, come over whenever you get around to it," he said.  "I got some food, but it'll be fast."

"What did you get?" Ben asked, unable to staunch the wariness that crept into his tone.

". . . Frozen pizza."

Ben heaved a sigh.  "We'll pick up something."

The call ended, and Ashur dropped the device into his pocket again as he considered briefly whether or not to change the passcode to unlock it.  Unfortunately, Kells was entirely too fast on the uptake, and he'd just watch Ashur until he'd figured out the new one, too, which pretty much defeated the purpose of having a lock on it, to start with . . .

Letting out a deep breath, Ashur rounded the desk and sat down to reach for the drawer where he'd stashed the present he'd bought for Jessa.

He frowned.  He didn't know what he was thinking when he'd seen it.  At the time, he was trying to explain to Kells that Jessa really wouldn't think that a huge box of Lego was the best present, ever, and he'd noticed the music box in the window of a small little niche store that he'd never really paid attention to before.

 _The bell over the door chimed when they walked in.  The shop was empty except for the small, gray-haired man behind the counter.  He looked up as he pushed a pair of wire-rimmed glasses up his nose with a crooked finger, a broad smile crinkling the skin of his face as he hopped off his stool and hurried around the counter despite a noticeable limp in his gait.  "Welcome, welcome!" he greeted.  "Can I help you, sir?_ "

" _It's Jessa's birfday!" Kells exclaimed happily_.

" _I'm looking for a birthday gift for a . . . a young girl," Ashur replied_.

" _A gift, a gift . . . Okay.  And how old is the young lady?_ "

" _Today's her eighteenth birthday," Ashur said_.

 _The small man clapped his hands.  "Ah, eighteen . . .!  That's such a magical time, I remember . . . Is there anything in particular that you were looking for?  We have many unique and interesting things, though most of them tend to be one-of-a-kind, so if you see something you like it's best to get it because most of our inventory goes pretty quickly_."

 _Ashur nodded.  "I'd like to see that music box in the window._ "

 _The man seemed pleased, and when his smile, his wrinkles nearly obscured his eyes.  He hurried over, reached through the black brocade curtain to carefully retrieve the music box, pausing long enough to carefully wind it with a small, antique key.  "We got this at an estate auction a few months ago, but it's taken that long just to restore it.  The box was in pristine condition, but the mechanism inside had to be retooled by hand . . . We've dated this particular one back to about 1870.  It uses the metal disk system, which predated the use of the smaller cylinders, and this model actually comes with three other disks that are interchangeable_ . . ."

 _It was a simple thing, crafted out of pressed tin with holes punched into it in an intricate design of scrolls and swirls and flowers and darkly polished wood panels with jewels set into it to accentuate the design.  "This one was missing a few of the gems, so we had those replaced, as well.  The jewels alone appraised at three hundred seventy six dollars—I have the documentation from the jeweler . . . It's a wonderful piece_."

It _was_ a beautiful piece.  Ashur just didn't know whether or not Jessa would like it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Jessa!"

Glancing up from her book, Jessa smiled at Kells, who stood beside the bed, hopping up and down happily.  "Where have you been all day?" she asked the toddler.

Kells stopped hopping long enough to claw his way onto the bed.  "Planning with Daddy!" he exclaimed.  "C'mon, Jessa!  It's time for dinner!"

She couldn't quite stop herself as she made a face.  "Your da didn't try cooking again, did he?"

He laughed and hopped on his knees.  "No . . . Uncle Ben brought the food wif Aunt Chaiwwy and Nadi and Emmy!"

She giggled, swinging her legs off the bed as she stuffed an old receipt between the pages of her book and stood up.  Then she held her arms out, catching Kells when he launched himself at her. "Kells, why do you smell like cake?"

The boy pushed against her chest and shot her a decidedly nervous sort of glance.  "I didn't do nuffin!" he insisted, eyes growing large, round, as though he were trying to convince her of his innocence.

"You're not going to get in trouble for something, are you?" she asked warily.

He shook his head.  "No-o-o-o-o . . ."

She sighed and shook her head as she headed down the stairs and toward the kitchen.

"Surprise!"

Jessa stopped short, blinking in surprise at the assembled people—most of whom she barely knew—as Charity hurried over with a silly paper party hat and a quick hug.  "Happy birthday, Jessa!" she greeted, slipping the hat onto her head and carefully adjusting the thin bit of elastic under her chin.

"Uh, thank you," she said, letting Kells slip down her side so that he could run over to stare at the cake on the table with the twin girls: Nadia and Emmeline.  From where she stood, she could see the spot on the corner that looked like someone might have stuck his fingers into the frosting, and she cleared her throat and tried to hide her amusement.

Myrna sauntered over and kissed the air on either side of Jessa's face.  "Happy birthday, Jess," she greeted, slipping a glass of champagne into her hand.  "And since you're now officially an adult, then I guess I won't have to worry about being a bad influence on you anymore."

Jessa smiled politely as Myrna gave her another quick hug as she wondered just how much champagne her cousin had already imbibed.

"I'm actually leaving shortly.  Have to go to New Orleans to check into a couple things, but I wanted to stop and wish you a happy birthday . . . Let me give you your present," Myrna said, setting her glass aside as she dug into her blazer pocket for a nondescript envelope.  "Here you go.  It's not much, but I thought that you'd like it."

Jessa stared at her for a long moment before cautiously taking the envelope and ripping it open.  The first thing she pulled out was a Visa gift card, but she ignore that at the moment.  Frowning as she pulled the pictures out, she slowly flipped through them.  Images from the one visit years ago when Myrna she and her mother had gone to visit her in Paris . . . Jessa was maybe six at the time . . . Images of Jessa and her mother or Jessa and Myrna or just Jessa alone, sitting in cafes, shopping in tiny stores that they wouldn’t have found without Myrna's help . . . Even a picture of them on horseback when they'd rented horses to ride through parts of the city . . . She hadn't realized that Myrna had anything like that . . .

"Thank you," she said quietly, unable to tear her gaze away from one picture in particular: a picture of Jessa and her mother outside the Notre Dame Cathedral.  Her bright smile as she knelt behind her, holding her around the waist while her pale blonde hair whipped around them in the spring breeze, without a touch of makeup that day, so far removed from the polished and perfect Marchioness of Aumberlese that was Orlaith Daugherty-O'Shea . . . The one in the picture was a rare side of her that was rarely captured on film, and that was the mother that Jessa knew best.

"You're welcome.  I have copies of all of those, so these are the originals.  They didn't let you grab many of your things when you left, did they?"

Caught off guard by Myrna's thoughtfulness, Jessa nodded.

Myrna smiled.  "I've got to run if I want to catch my flight.  We'll do lunch when I get back, okay?"

"Okay," Jessa said as Myrna hugged her again.  Then she was gone, and Jessa bit her lip as her gaze fell to the picture once more.

"You look nothing at all like your mother," Ashur remarked, looking over her shoulder.

"I look like Da," she explained almost absently.  "He didn't go with us on this trip, though . . ."

A small tug on the leg of her jeans drew her attention, and she smiled at the tiny girl who was holding a very large gift bag and smiling up at her.  "Dis for your birfday!" she said, uttering a small grunt as she tried to heft the bag a little higher.

"Thank you," Jessa said, kneeling down to take the gift from the girl as her twin sister dashed over.  They were dressed entirely differently—one in pink, the other in yellow—but they were so identical that Jessa couldn’t rightfully tell one from the other.  "Are you Nadia or Emmeline?"

The girl in pink giggled.  "I'm Emmy!" she said.

"I'm Nadi!" the yellow one added.

"I don't know how to tell you apart," Jessa admitted.

"Surprisingly, it's never been an issue for us," Ben remarked, scooping up Emmeline and kissing her cheek.  "I'm not sure why . . ."

"Open your present!" Kells hollered, dashing over to wait impatiently.

"The food's going to get cold if she opens presents now," Ashur said, taking the gift from his niece to set it aside for later.  Then he glanced at her and shrugged.  "Don't worry.  I didn't cook."

"I thought you bought frozen pizzas," she murmured as she leaned toward him.

He snorted.  "Ben didn't think that was appropriate for a birthday party," he replied.

She smile just a little, just enough to make him blink, stare for a moment.  "I don't mind frozen pizza," she admitted.  His thoughtfulness . . . It touched her.  "Thank you for the party."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa let out a deep breath as she gathered the silly, festively printed paper cake plates off the table and dropped them into a trash bag before slowly lifting her face, staring thoughtfully at the helium balloons that still hugged the ceiling.  A few of them had fallen over the course of the evening, but there were still the stubborn ones that had yet to come down.  But the ceiling in the dining room was easily fifteen feet high, so retrieving those wasn't going to be an easy task, either . . .

Ashur strode into the room, stopping short when he noticed the bag in her hand, and he frowned.  "I'll get that," he said.  "You shouldn't have to clean up after your own birthday party, should you?"

She shrugged but didn't lower her gaze.  "It's fine.  I don't mind," she replied.

He finally noticed what she was doing, and he turned his head to see just what had captured her interest.  "Oh, those," he intoned.  "They'll come down eventually."

"Maybe," she allowed, "but your house is entirely too formal for that not to look sorely out of place."

"You think this place is formal?" he countered.

She nodded.  "It reminds me of Aumberlese . . ."  She made a face.  "I hated that place."

"Did you?" he asked as he took the bag and picked up the discarded wrapping papers and empty boxes.  "Your father's formal estate?"

Reaching for the leftover cake, she nodded again.  "We didn't go there often," she admitted.  "Just when formality dictated."

He sighed.  "This probably wasn't what you're used to for your birthday," he ventured, sounding almost apologetic.  "If I'd had more notice . . ."

"I liked it," she assured him.  "It was very nice of you to go out of your way for me."

He didn't look like he believed her, but he nodded anyway.  "So, what did you do on your last birthday?"

She let out a deep breath, leaning against the table as she retrieved a balloon that had fallen, holding it between her hands and staring at it like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.  "Last year?  I argued with my parents and took off on my horse for a few hours . . ."

"Argued with your parents?"

She nodded, wincing as the memory surfaced despite her desire not to think about it at all . . . "My ma decided that it was time for my official debut," she explained hesitantly, haltingly.  "I didn't want it . . . It's archaic and stupid . . ." She shrugged.  "They invited everyone, decided that we had to have it at Aumberlese.  Ma thought that it was high time I started paying attention to would-be suitors like there had to be some kind of rush—like I had to be married by the time I turned twenty or I'd be an old spinster or something ridiculous like that—which is entirely out dated, isn't it?  I mean, I was about to turn seventeen, was finishing my exams . . . The last thing I wanted or needed was some irritating fop who didn't know when to just leave me alone . . ."

"How old was your mother when she married your father?"

She snorted indelicately, dropping the balloon so that she could catch her hair, dragging it over her shoulder as she twisted it around and around—something she always did when she was agitated.  "That's the really infuriating thing.  Ma was nearly sixteen when she met Da, and then, to hear him tell it, she led him on a merry chase for a good number of years before she finally resigned herself to the married life."

He shook his head.  "So, why was she so set on seeing you married so young?"

That earned him a rather baleful look, as though she thought that he really ought to know the answer to that particular question.  "Once she became marquess, she became entirely absorbed in the whole thing—which is why I ended up taking every lesson known to man—so that I would be the perfect wife one day . . . I mean, I didn't _hate_ the lessons," she hurried on to say.  "But that was why . . . Some days, I just wanted to take my horse and run, but Ma . . ." She trailed off with another sigh, then suddenly flicked her wrist, as though to dismiss whatever she was thinking.  "I probably should have been a little more sporting of it all.  It made her happy to do all these things, to plan it all, to throw those parties . . . Da begged me more than once to humor her, and I . . .  I should have . . ."

"But you weren't interested on being married that young," he concluded.

She made a face, shoving herself away from the table to slowly stalk around the room, her fingers still twisting her hair over and over again.  "It wasn't that," she admitted slowly.  "It was more the idea that it felt like I had no say in it . . . If I'd found the one who was my mate, then I would guess that it wouldn't have bothered me, but . . . But to feel as though you have no choice?  That it's your life, but you can only stand by and watch as it's planned out for you . . .? I can't explain it . . . It just . . ."

". . . Just feels as though you're trapped in a box, and you cannot breathe," he replied.

She stared at him.  Staring off into space with a thoughtful scowl, as though he were seeing something in his own past, something that had made him feel exactly as she had . . . She had to wonder if he even realized that he'd spoken out loud.  Somehow, it bothered her, didn't it?  That he should understand what she'd felt because maybe he'd felt it, too . . . And that feeling that she'd believed no one would ever understand . . .

It bothered her because it hurt, and for some reason, the idea that he'd hurt like that, too . . . That bothered her the most . . .

"Exactly like that," she murmured, lowering her voice, loathe to break him from his thoughts.

He blinked, shifted his gaze to meet hers.  She didn't know how long he stared at her, his eyes cloaked in something dark, an emotion that she didn't even begin to comprehend, and yet, there was a certain familiarity there—the same sense of familiarity that she'd felt the night before, in her room, in the quiet—as though he grasped those things about her that he couldn't possibly discern . . .

She knew it, and she understood it because she felt the same things about him, too . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
>  _** evlonerhotmailcom ——— Usagiseren05
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
>  _** monsterkittie
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
>  _** cutechick18 ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _Happy birthday_ **…**


	11. A Little Too Close

"I can't believe that this is where you live."

Settling back on the lounge chair beside the pool while Kells splashed around in the shallow end, Jessa nodded.  "I can't believe that Ashur said it was okay to have you over," she admitted.

Which was true enough.  Ashur was in the house working on something or other in his office while Kells had begged and pleaded with her to bring him outside to swim, but she'd told him that she had to go out and meet Carol for coffee and to retrieve her things that she'd left in her locker at work.  Carol had gotten the couple items she'd left there since Ashur still stubbornly insisted that she wasn't allowed to step foot back in the club, ever again.  He'd overheard her and told her that it was fine if she wanted to have Carol come by, saying that if she swore that Carol could be trusted, he'd believe her.

Carol laughed and pulled a bottle of sunscreen from her purse.  "And your boss?  No wonder you quit the club!  That man is absolutely delicious . . . I thought that men that looked like him were all in Hollywood or something . . ."

Rolling her eyes and willing her cheeks not to pink at Carol's blunt assessment of Ashur, Jessa slowly shook her head.  "It's nothing like that," she insisted.  "I'm just watching Kells for him—and he's a friend of my cousin's, so that's it."

Carol heaved a melodramatic sigh.  "That's a damn shame," she lamented and leaned in closer.  "He's a mighty fine piece of ass, if you ask me."

"Carol!" she protested, waving a hand at her friend to shut her up.  "Hush!"

"Jessa!  Carol!  Watch me!"

The girls looked up, just in time to watch Kells as he dashed around the pool to get a running start before he launched himself out over the water, landing with a very nice crash for a child as small as he was.  He came up sputtering and laughing.  Jessa smiled.  "Good job, Kells," she said.  "But remember, you promised your da you wouldn't be running around the pool."

"I forgot!" he hollered back.

Jessa nodded and sat back again.

"Have you kissed him yet?"

Jessa blinked and shot Carol a quizzical glance.  "Kells? Well, sure . . ."

Carol heaved another melodramatic sigh and rolled her eyes in a rather theatrical way.  "Jess!  As sweet as he is, no, not Kells!  Kells' _daddy_ ," she said, her voice dropping for the last part of her delivery as she raised her eyebrows to emphasize her already emphasized, 'daddy'.

Jessa could feel the explosion of blood beneath the surface of her skin.  "Carol!  No!" she hissed in a very loud whisper.  "O-O-Of course not!"

One eyebrow dropped while the other remained highly arched.  "Why not?  He's hot—tell me you don't think he's incredibly hot."

She rolled her eyes, stubbornly averting her gaze.  "I'd hardly say that he's hot," she retorted under her breath.  "I mean, yes, he's a very good-looking man in a kind of brooding, sad sort of way, but that's hardly the point!  It's entirely inappropriate, given the circumstances, and—"

"Brooding?  Sad?  Are we talking about the same guy here?"  Carol shook her head as she considered Jessa's statement.  "Okay, brooding, maybe—I'll give you that one . . . He does seem a little more serious than he ought to be . . . I mean, he's, what?  Twenty-seven?  Twenty-nine?  Thirty's pushing it . . ."

She started to scoff that Ashur was much, much older than that, but she snapped her mouth closed before she did.  Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Carol was human, and this was one of those times . . . "Yeah, and . . . and a man his age wouldn't give a second thought to some girl who just turned eighteen," she muttered, more to herself than to Carol.

"Oh!  That reminds me!" Carol exclaimed, sitting up and reaching for her purse again.  She dug through it and pulled out a small box that wasn't wrapped but did have a pretty pink ribbon tied around it.  "Happy birthday!  I'm sorry it's late . . ."

She smiled and took the box with a soft giggle as she tugged the ribbon and let it fall away.  Inside the box was a pretty silver cross on a sparkling silver chain.  The cross itself was maybe half an inch from top to bottom and very prettily detailed.  "It's lovely!" Jessa said, carefully pulling it off of the backing pad.  "Thank you!"

She shrugged but smiled happily, obviously pleased that Jessa liked the gift.  "Well, you were saying the one night that you missed the cross your father gave you, right?  So, I thought that this would be okay until you can get your other one back."

"I love it," she insisted, leaning over to hug Carol.  "Thank you so much . . ."

"Me an' Daddy got Jessa a music box," Kells added, using his arms to hook himself onto the side of the pool.

Jessa smiled at the boy.  "You did," she agreed.  "It's beautiful."

Kells absolutely beamed at her.  Then he braced his feet against the wall of the pool and threw himself backward as he pushed off.

"A music box?" Carol echoed.  "Surely not one of those cheapie things from Target or something, right?"

Jessa frowned.  "No, I think it might be an antique," she admitted.  "It's really just gorgeous."

Carol's expression brightened.  "Oh, good, because if he'd gone the cheap route, I'd say you'd better make him work harder for that first kiss."

"There will be no kissing," Jessa insisted.  "Besides, he . . . He's not interested in me; not like that . . ."

Carol's smile faded, only to be replaced by a thoughtful sort of scowl as she leaned her head to the side and shifted her jaw to bite her lip, which she only did when she was considering something, Jessa had learned.  "So . . ."

Jessa glanced at her and shook her head.  "So . . .?" she repeated.

Carol straightened up and grinned.  "So, get him interested!"

Swinging her legs off of the chair, she grabbed Kells' towel and stepped toward the pool.  "I'll pretend I didn't hear you say that," she mumbled before raising her voice so that the child would hear her. "Kells!  Are you ready to get out?  You've been in there about an hour."

"Awww!  Do I have to?"

"I think it's a good idea," she said, shaking out the towel for him.  "How about a snack and a book?  And it's almost time for _Monster Rangers_ . . ."

" _Monster Rangers_!" he hollered, happily splashing toward the side of the pool.  Once out, he grabbed the towel and tossed it over his shoulders like Superman's cape before speeding off toward the house.

Jessa, however, was a little slower as she gathered her towel and their water bottles.

Carol hopped up and grabbed her purse and towel, too.  "I want to see that music box," she insisted.

Jessa laughed and nodded.  "All right," she agreed.  "Let me get Kells' snack first."

"Do you suppose your boss would mind if we went and did a little shopping?  I've been meaning to get some new clothes . . . I just hate trying them all on and figuring out that I've gained a couple pounds since the last time I went . . ."

"Have you gained weight?"

Carol giggled.  "Maybe."  She struck a ridiculous representation of a classic sultry pose.  "But I still look damn fine, don't I?"

"Of course, you do," Jessa giggled as she locked the gate and led the way to the French doors.

When she stepped into the house, she stopped short at the sight of Ashur, who was busy, slapping together a couple peanut butter sandwiches.  "Oh, I was going to get his snack around," she blurted since, technically, it was her job now.

"The little tyrant couldn't wait," he replied rather dryly as he glanced up at her for a moment before resuming his task again.  "You sat in the sun for an hour or more, and you're still just as pale as you were when you went out there," he pointed out.

She wrinkled her nose.  "That wasn't at all tactful, Ashur," she pointed out.

He shrugged, slapping the lid onto the jar and grabbing both sandwiches.  The first one, he jammed half of it into his mouth and made a face.  "This stuff is disgusting," he muttered around a mouthful of peanut butter.

She rolled her eyes and dropped the empty bottles into the recycling bin before heading toward the maid's quarters.  "Oh, do you mind if I go shopping for a little while with Carol?"

Shaking his head as he waved the other peanut butter sandwich over his shoulder, he didn't stop as he headed out of the kitchen.

Jessa shot Carol an, 'I-Told-You-So' look before jerking her head for her friend to follow.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Scowling at the papers that had just been faxed over from the attorney's office who was working with the Irish Consulate in order to try to get a rush on resolving Jessa's parents' estate, the note with the report indicated that they were having a hard time getting Ian MacDonnough's office to sign off on the death certificates, which should have followed standard protocol, but for some reason, the European tai-youkai was apparently asking more questions than necessary and generally just dragging his feet.

According to Lachlan Dunbyrne, the youkai attorney handling the estate, there were questions regarding Orlaith Daugherty-O'Shea's death in a car accident that had ultimately led to her husband's death less than a year later, but the police reports on the incident had been clear enough: a faulty fuel line in the car had led to a freak explosion when the car she'd been driving had passed over an area in the road where there was a downed power line that hadn't yet been cordoned off.  Until those questions were answered, he said, he could not legally release any part of the estate to Jessa.

' _It almost sounds like someone thinks she had something to do with that accident_ ,' he thought as he re-read the reports.

' _It can't be that . . . I mean, she wasn't in the car—obviously._ '

' _Maybe but why else wouldn't they be able to release the estate?  It doesn't make sense unless they do think that, which is entirely preposterous . . ._ '

' _Should we ask her what she knows about all of it?_ '

He wasn't sure.  Somehow, questioning her about her mother's death just didn't seem like a good idea . . . Considering how loathe he was to talk about his own mother's death, he couldn’t imagine that she'd feel much differently on the subject . . .

"Daddy?" Kells burbled around a mouthful of sandwich.

"You're not supposed to talk with your mouth full," Ashur reminded him without looking up from the reports.

He swallowed his bite and dropped the sandwich onto the coffee table as he hopped to his feet and skittered over to the sofa to lean on the arm beside him.  "Daddy!"

"Yes?"

"Do you wanna kiss Jessa?"

Ashur's head snapped up, eyes flaring wide as he stared at the boy incredulously as the report fell out of his slack hands onto his lap.  "Wh-What?"

Kells frowned, pursing his little lips thoughtfully.  "Jessa said you weren't interested in her like that . . . What does she mean, Daddy?"

Clearing his throat a couple of times, he shook his head.  "What else did she say?" he asked cautiously.  Part of him wanted to know.  The other part?  Well . . .

Kells leaned on the sofa arm, kicking his feet against the side.  "She said that you're good-looking . . ." He blinked and tapped Ashur's arm.  "I wanna be good-lookin' too!"

Ashur snorted.  "You've got awhile before you have to worry about that, Kells," he pointed out.  "Did . . . Did she say anything else . . .?"

Kells looked up at the ceiling, tapping his chin thoughtfully.  "Carol said you were hot, but Jessa turned all red!  Daddy!  Do you gots a fever?"

He barked out a terse laugh and shook his head.  "No, Kells . . ."

Apparently not satisfied with Ashur's answer, he reached over and slapped a tiny hand against Ashur's forehead and the other hand on his own.  "You don't feel hot . . ."

Ashur pulled his hand down and pointed at the television.  "You're missing Monster Rangers," he pointed out.

"Oh!" Kells exclaimed, scooting back over to his spot and grabbing the rest of his sandwich.

' _She . . . She turned red . . .?  Blushing?  But . . ._ '

' _Maybe she wants you to kiss her . . ._ '

' _Oh, I can think of a thousand reasons why that's a bad idea,_ ' he thought with an inward snort.

' _Is it, though?  Is it, really?_ '

' _Of course, it is!  She's just staying here until she gets her estate settled . . . There's nothing more to it than that . . ._ '

' _Is that right?_ '

' _Isn't it?_ '

' _I don't know, Ash . . . I mean, I've thought it before, but you know, I think a part of her actually understands you on some level—quite the feat, really, given that I don't understand you half of the time.  The other half, I just think you're stupid_.'

' _The_ _last thing I need is to be preoccupied, worrying about her,_ ' he insisted as he picked up the report and scanned for where he'd left off when Kells interrupted him.  ' _Granted, she's a gorgeous girl—I'd have to be dead not to notice her, but that doesn't mean that I'm . . . I'm_ interested _in her.  That . . . That would just be ridiculous.  Besides, my life's complicated enough with adding unnecessary attachments to it_ . . .'

' _It's_ _really not, and you know that, too.  What you're really afraid of is that you'll start to care about her, just like you cared about Hana—Granted, she was never your mate, but the idea still scares you, right?  Someone you've cared about your whole life, and now_ . . .'

' _Can_ _we not talk about that?_ '

His youkai-voice sighed.  ' _It doesn't really make it any less true, but you know, right?  Simplifying Jessa . . . Trying to put her into the same box as Hana?  It's like comparing apples to oranges just because they're both fruit.  Jessa's nothing like Hana—and your interest in Jessa is about as different from the interest you had in Hana as daylight and dark.  You hate to admit as much, I know you do, but your mother did have a point.  Hana was a willing body, and there wasn't really much more to it than that_.'

' _Drop it_.'

' _All right, but just so you know: simply saying you're not interested doesn't really mean that you aren't.  The fascination's still there.  So is that sense of familiarly, isn't it?  But you don't understand what that means yet, do you?_ '  His youkai chuckled.  ' _Don't worry, baka.  You will_.'

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa knocked on the doorframe, and Ashur looked up from his task of sorting through a number of listings in and around the Quebec City area.  "How was shopping?" he asked, letting his gaze return to the stacks of listings that he'd printed out.

"I brought you some real food," she said, stepping forward to set a nondescript white bag on the desk.

He shot her a questioning glance but dropped the papers to dig into the bag instead.  "Sushi?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow as he pulled a beautifully packaged box out of the bag.  It was from a small shop that he was familiar enough with since they had the best sushi in town, which said a lot, considering how vast New York City was.  Even so, that she'd found it was a little surprising.  "Why sushi?"

She shrugged.  "Everyone likes sushi, don't they?"

He slowly blinked at her as he pulled the chopsticks apart and shook his head.  "Awfully broad generalization," he told her.  "How'd you find _Yamato Sushiworks_?"

She shrugged and sat down on the chair facing the desk.  "Carol suggested it.  I brought some back for Kells, too . . . It's kind of early, but is he in bed?"

"No, he's spending the night at my brother's house.  They're leaving in the morning for Maine—and he actually doesn't like sushi."

She seemed surprised by that.  "Really?"

Ashur shrugged. "Nope, which is why I don't have it very often, either."

"What does he prefer?"

"Chicken nuggets . . . pizza . . . hamburgers . . . Crap," he concluded.

She made a face.  "When I was young, Da tried to get me to eat haggis . . . Our cook was from Scotland, and Da swore that her haggis was delicious, but the smell of it . . ." She affected a full-body shudder then ruined the effect by leaning in to snatch one of the sushi rolls out of the box.

"Go eat the ones you brought home for Kells and stay out of this," he muttered.

She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.  It was an entirely pleasant sound, he decided—which didn't mean that he'd willingly share the food she'd brought home for him, either.  "Didn't you ever learn how to share?"

He snorted, stuffing another roll into his mouth.  "Nope.  Only child—sort of."

"You have a brother," she countered.

"And as you've seen, Ben's a lot older than I am."

"That still doesn't mean that you weren't taught how to share."

He rolled his eye.  "And were you taught that it was all right to snatch things off other people's plates?"

Her smile was angelic.  The sparkle in her eyes was not.  "You don't have a plate, Ashur."

"Same idea."

She stared at him for a long moment as he finished off his food and stashed it all back in the bag once more.  Her smile faded, only to be replaced by a thoughtfully little frown.  "Have you been in here all day?"

"Most of it," he admitted, resuming his perusal of Quebec City listings.  "This house looks nice," he remarked, almost more to himself than to her.  "Outskirts of the city with a good deal of open property with a stable that I could rent out if I wanted . . ."

"A stable?" she echoed, sitting up a little straighter.

"Mhmm," he intoned.  "The current owners have show horses, it says, so the stable is pretty much state-of-the-art—" He snorted.  "How state-of-the-art can a stable really be?"

"Ours has computers set to feed and water the horses at regular times, heat to make sure that they're comfortable in the winter, air to make sure that they're comfortable in the summer . . ."

He glanced up at her, only to look again, frowning at the wistful expression on her face.  "You miss your horses?"

She met his gaze for a moment, but looked away just as quickly, staring at her hands in a thoughtful kind of way.  "I miss _my_ horse," she replied quietly.

"Your horse?  What kind of horse?"

Biting her lip, she slowly lifted her eyes to meet his, almost as though she were wary of what he might say.  Or was it something entirely different . . .?  "Derry . . . He's a gypsy cob I got for my twelfth birthday . . ."

He didn't look impressed, but then, he didn't know a thing about horses, either.  "Is that a breed?"

She nodded.  "I . . . I have a picture," she ventured, her tone almost guarded.

"Okay," he agreed.

She watched him for another moment before getting up and walking out of the office.  Ashur stared at the listing for another minute then set it aside to ask the realtor about.

The other listings all seemed to be a lot closer to the downtown area, which wasn't bad, exactly, but he had to admit that he missed having more open area.  This townhouse felt so close, so confining, even though he had one of the larger ones in the area—large enough for the pool, but there was no yard to speak of, either.  Ben had suggested that he consider something that he'd be happier with and then to rent office space in town where he could conduct meetings without having to allow various strange youkai into his home, and he figured that idea might be sound enough.

He felt Jessa's return rather than heard it.  Her youki brushed over his as he glanced up.  She held a small, leather-bound book in her hands—a photo album, he supposed, and she leafed through it, stopping on a certain page, and handed it across the desk.

He took it, blinking in surprise at the image of the running horse.  The background was blurred, but the horse was not.  A large black horse with white spots, glossy and shining in the light of day, with a long, flowing mane of black and white, tufts of hair around the hooves . . . Absolutely a gorgeous animal, even if he didn't really know a thing about them . . .

"This is your horse?"

She nodded, a certain sadness surrounding her, even if she did try to hide it.  "If they haven't sold him . . . If they are bothering to take care of him—of them . . ."

He slowly turned the pages, images of people that he didn't know, but she did.  "I, uh . . . I got a report from the consulate today," he told her, pausing at a picture of Jessa, decked out in what could only be described as someone's twisted idea of a fairy tale dress: yards and yards of delicate white satin with a bodice that was so tight that he had to wonder if the girl could even breathe, and cascading lace that spilled from the mid-length bell sleeves, peeked from under the skirt that had to be at least six feet in diameter . . . She was smiling in the picture, but she didn't look like she wanted to be, and that . . . It bothered him.

"A report?  On what?"

Blinking away his wayward thoughts, he shrugged.  "Basically, it's everything they've discovered about your parents and the accident that killed your mother," he replied.  "The gist of it is that Ian MacDonnough seems to be holding things up for whatever reason . . . He apparently has questions about the accident that killed your mother."  Letting out a deep breath, he pulled the report out from underneath the listings.  "If you want to read it . . ."

Her eyes flared wide as she caught sight of the official document, and she seemed to lean away just a little.  "Do I . . .?  Do I need to?"

"No," he admitted, tapping the bottoms of the pages against the desk.  "But if you want to, I won't stop you."

She shook her head quickly, forcing her gaze to the side.  "I . . . I don't think I can," she admitted softly.

He let out a deep breath.  If he were her, he'd probably feel the same way . . .

"Da thought that they killed her—murdered her," she said quietly, almost more to herself than to him.  "Da said . . ."

Ashur frowned, letting the report drop to the desk as he stood up and came around, leaning against the desk top as he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at her.  "Who did?"

She shook her head.  "I don't know," she whispered, the anger in her tone directed at herself, maybe?  Because she didn't have the answers . . .?  "He . . . He just said that it was because . . . because he'd refused the marriage, but . . ." she swallowed hard.  "But he was pretty delirious by then . . . He died the next day . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
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> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader ——— sutlesarcasm
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _But what would they gain by killing her parents …?_


	12. Changes

"So, this is something you do for fun?" Ashur asked, making a face as the horse he rode—a brown beast who had the unfortunate name of Stomper—seemed to be delighting in his ill attempt to knock Ashur off onto his arse.

"All the time!"  Jessa laughed softly, carefully holding onto the reins of Penny, a pretty and apparently calm sorrel horse.  Kells giggled, too, as he held onto the reins just below Jessa's hands, content to believe that he was guiding the animal.

He'd taken them out of the city a little early.  They were on their way to Quebec City to look at a few properties, but Ashur had found a listing for a local stable outside of New York City where one could rent horses for anywhere from a day to a week, to ride their trails up to a small campground where they could stay, along with other various horse trails that ranged from easy to more advanced, but in order to take the more advanced routes, one had to pass a general dressage course.  Jessa, not surprisingly, had passed the course with ease.  Ashur hadn't even attempted it.  When one was done, one rode the horses back down and returned them, which he'd thought she might enjoy.  Somehow, it never really occurred to him that he might not, though . . .

He stifled a sigh.  It had only taken about twenty minutes to locate the campsite and to put their sparse gear in the small cabin.  Then she'd wanted to try out one of the beginner's trails, and, being the glutton for punishment that he was, he'd agreed . . . After the last hour and a half on the creature, Ashur was more than a little ready to call it good for the day, and he might have, too, if she weren't thoroughly enjoying herself . . .

"This is fantastic!" she called back to him, the smile in her voice clear and apparent.  "Do you need to take a break?"

"No," he replied, silently cursing his misplaced pride.

' _I'm . . . going to be really sorry for this tomorrow_ . . .'

His youkai snorted.  ' _Probably_.'

"Daddy, I want a horse of my own!" Kells hollered.

"God forbid," he muttered under his breath.

Jessa turned to look back at him, frowning thoughtfully as she slowly shook her head and clicked her tongue to stop the horse.  She swung down, but left Kells up there as she grasped the reins and led the horse along the path.  "It’s not nearly as bad if you could let him gallop," she said, raising her voice to carry to him as he slid off the beast to walk, too.  "Some horses just walk rougher than others.  We could trade if you want . . . Penny's pretty smooth."

Glancing at the much smaller horse, Ashur snorted.  "I'm fine," he lied, thankful to have his feet back on the ground again.

She slowed down, allowing him to catch up to her, to walk beside her.

"I'm  . . . I'm just not a horse person, I guess," he admitted.  "If you want to ride awhile, I can take Kells back to the cabin . . . Take him fishing or something . . ."

She shrugged.  "I think this trail just circles back to the cabin," she said.  "I . . . I've never fished before . . ."

He lifted his face, scanned the trees, the skies . . . From the position of the sun, he could tell that it wasn't quite noon yet, and that was fine.  He didn't really care how long they stayed out here.  "You don't really strike me as the fishing type," he allowed.  "Do you really want to touch fish?  You'd have to kill and skin them, too."

She wrinkled her nose, and he could feel her spirit rising to the perceived challenge.  "I could do that," she insisted a little too casually.

"I like fishing!" Kells exclaimed.  "Daddy?  Do I know how to fish?"

Ashur chuckled.  "No, you don't," he said.  "I can teach you though."

He heard Jessa's soft gasp, but didn't really think much of it until he glanced down at her, only to find her staring at him in a wholly strange kind of way, eyes wide, transfixed, the reddish hue seeming to flow, to undulate like molten lava, like shimmering scarlet pools, as a slow flush rose in her cheeks.  For a long moment, she didn't seem like she realized just what she was doing, but suddenly, she gasped again—this time, a little softer— as she quickly shifted her gaze away, as her already pink cheeks deepened into a dusky hue that almost matched her rosy lips.

"Jessa?  Are you all right?"

She cleared her throat, managed a husky laugh.  "That's the first time I ever saw you smile," she admitted quietly.

For some reason, her statement surprised him.  Was that true?  Really?  He supposed that he didn't really smile as much as he used to, but surely he'd smiled before around her . . .

Heaving an inward sigh, he shook his head.  No, maybe he hadn't . . .

"It's a nice smile," she concluded, tucking a few flyaway strands of her ridiculously fine hair behind her ear.  "You should wear it more often."

He smiled slightly despite himself.  "Should I?"

She nodded, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips before she smiled back.  "Ma always told me that a smile was the best accessory one could wear."

Forcing his eyes off of her and upward, toward the treetops so high overhead, Ashur frowned.  He'd thought it before, hadn't he?  ' _Smile so that no one sees your pain_. . .'  He used to be fairly good at it, too.  Somewhere along the way, though, he'd forgotten how to do it, and he'd discovered that building a wall around himself might well be far more effective . . .

"Where are you from?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Where am I from?" he repeated with a thoughtful scowl.

She reached up with one hand, placing it against Kells' back to correct his posture.  "You have a slight accent," she said.  "I noticed before, but I kept forgetting to ask."

"Oh . . . Uh . . . Japan," he allowed.  "I just moved here shortly after Kells was born."

"Ah . . . So, that's why you're so good at using chopsticks," she concluded.  "It makes sense . . . Why'd you move here?"

He sighed, not really wanting to answer her questions, not really interested in playing the, 'get to know you' game.  Even so, he supposed he could understand her curiosity, even if it was sorely misplaced.  "I just thought it'd be nice to live closer to Ben and Charity," he said, hoping that it was enough to appease her.

The look she sent him told him that she wasn't completely convinced.  Even so, she didn't press him further, which suited him just fine.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa squealed as she yanked the huge fish out of the water, holding onto it tightly as she hefted it high.  "That makes four!" she hollered triumphantly.

Ashur slowly shook his head as Kells hopped up and down in the shallows, clapping in his excitement.  "And there goes my manhood," he muttered to himself as he swung his arms wide, wading over to her as she turned that ridiculously brilliant smile on him.  "Is that enough for dinner?"

"Yes, it is," he said, taking the fish from her after retrieving the slatted fish trap he'd found inside the cabin.  He added the fresh catch to the trap along with the other three huge fish were still flopping around inside.  Counting the ones Ashur had caught, they had a grand total of four . . .

"Since I caught them all, does that mean you have to clean them?" she asked, bouncing along on the balls of her feet to keep up with him as he strode toward the shore.

"All right," he conceded, albeit, with ill grace.  "It was beginner's luck," he scoffed.

She rolled her eyes.  "It wasn't a contest," she pointed out reasonably.  "Of course, if it were, then I'd have won."

"Daddy's a loser!" Kells hollered happily.

"Thanks, _son_ ," Ashur grumbled, casting Kells a withering look that somehow made the boy giggle.

"You know, I taught you how to fish, so if you think about it that way, I'm kind of the winner."

"That . . . doesn't even make sense," she told him, shaking her head as she plopped down on the shore to watch him gut and clean the fish.

' _You know damn well that the reason you didn't catch a single fish is that you were way too busy, staring at Jessa,_ ' his youkai-voice pointed out a little too reasonably.

' _I was not._ '

The voice grunted.  ' _Don't worry.  I rather like that bathing suit myself, if it makes you feel any better._ '

He didn't bother replying to that, but he did shift his gaze to the side—and was immediately sorry for it, too, given that the girl in question had stretched out her long legs, heels on the soft ground, knees bent slightly, as she leaned back on her hands, her head tilted back, eyes closed as she savored the heat from the late afternoon sun.  The length of her hair—fiery in the light—dragged in the dirt, but she either didn't notice or didn't care, as the rise of her breasts lifted and fell with every breath she drew, the barest scrap of black fabric covering them . . .

' _That girl has damn fine nipples . . ._ '

' _You . . . You need to be quiet._ '

' _But she's cold!  And that means that certain things—like her nipples—are very prominently on display there, Ash!_ '

He heaved an inward sigh, dragging his eyes off of the girl as he carefully scaled the first fish.

He had no business at all, looking at her, now did he?  Holy hell, eighteen years old . . . She was closer to Kells in age than she was to him, damn it, and that ought to mean something.  But it didn't, and how could it, when she was sitting entirely too close, wearing entirely too little . . .?

"The evening's going to be chilly," he said, hoping she didn't see right through what he was about to say.  "You might want to get dressed before the sun goes down."

"It'll be awhile before it does," she countered mildly.  "I've decided that I want to get a tan this year.  Ma always fussed about it before . . . Said it would be a shame to ruin my complexion . . ." Twisting her waist, she brought her far hand around to lean on the dirt, bringing her breasts to even more of an incredible vantage point that Ashur had to bite his cheek to ignore while she peered down at the fish as he cut it open, hoping that she didn't notice just how badly his hands were shaking.

"Oh, that's so gross," she murmured, leaning in to get a better look.  "Oh, eww, eww, eww . . . Is that caviar?"

He shot her a raised-eyebrow-ed look and slowly shook his head.  "Looks like it," he replied.  "You want to try it?"

She shook her head quickly.  "Never did like that stuff," she admitted.  "That's really disgusting . . ."

He snorted.  "It's entrails.  It's supposed to be disgusting," he told her.

She made a face.  "I want to try doing that."

He blinked, hand stilling as he shot her a questioning glance.  "You want to scale and gut a fish?"

She nodded.

"All right," he said with a shrug.  "But if you start one, you have to finish it."

She rolled her eyes and retrieved a fish from the trap.  "Okay, I scale it first, right?" she asked, grabbing a short piece of wood that was relatively flat to use as a cutting board.

He tossed the first fish into an empty bucket and reached for another.  "Just carefully use your claws . . . Like this . . ."

She watched him for a moment before mimicking his motions.  She wasn't very good at it, but she did manage to remove the scales without mutilating the fish too badly.  "This would be okay if it didn't stink so much," she remarked.

"Yeah, and your hands might end up smelling fishy for a day or so," he told her.

"I'm washable," she quipped, flipping the fish over to scale the other side.

"It has been my experience that most females don't like doing stuff like this," he pointed out.

"Okay, so I don't want to do it every day," she admitted.  "But I like to cook, so it just seems right to learn the other stuff, too."

"You cook?"

She nodded, concentrating on getting the last of the scales off the fish.

"You could have told me that sooner."

She smiled at him.  "If I cook for you, will you pay me more?"

He shrugged.  "Depends on how good you are."

She sighed, pushing her hair out of her face with the back of her bent wrist.  "I could cook these," she offered.

"Okay," he agreed.  "Now, you just run your claw up the belly and take out everything that looks . . . disgusting."

She did it, impressing him just a little when she managed the task with minimal squeamishness.  Even so, he took pity on her, finishing up the fish he was working on and grabbing the last one before she finished the one she was gutting.

When he was done, she took the fish over to the water to give them a good washing before laying them out on a towel to dry as she gathered the things together to make dinner.  He'd brought along a few staples, but the website had boasted about the fish being the best in the area, and as the smell of frying fish over the open campfire filled the air, Ashur had to admit, however grudgingly, that she absolutely was surprising, that girl . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa awoke with a start, smashing her hand over her mouth as the nightmare she couldn't remember slowly loosened its hold on her.  The cabin was dark, quiet, and she pushed herself up as she blinked, trying to make out anything in the room.

She could tell by the sound of Kells' and Ashur's breathing that they were still sleeping.  Bringing up her knees, she wrapped her arms around her legs, letting her forehead fall against them as she struggled to steady her raging emotions.

Funny how something she couldn't even recall could have such a firm grip on her: funny and a little sad, too.  Yet, the walls felt like they were closing in on her, leaving her frightened and anxious . . .

Before she could stop to think about it, she tossed the blanket aside, stumbled to her feet, only to creep as quietly as she could across the bare plank floor of the single room cabin, letting herself outside into the night.

She had no idea what time it was as she wandered across the porch, down the two steps to the stone path that led to the pond.  The campfire was still smoldering, and she stopped, leaned her head to the side, let her youki stretch out around her.  The half-burned wood flared to brilliant light once more, and she spared a minute to toss another few logs onto the fire before stepping back to examine her handiwork.  It was probably easier since the fire hadn't completely died out.  Even so, she'd take the victory, she decided.

If only she could remember that dream . . .

She'd had it before in the time since her mother's death.  She never could remember it, though, and maybe it was for the best.  After all, what good could possibly come of it?  All she knew what that she invariably woke up feeling scared and lost and alone . . . She didn't know how she knew that it was always the same dream, but she did . . .

Letting out a deep breath, she turned, wandering down the path that led to the pond, not really paying too much attention to where she was going.  In the back of her mind, she heard the horses they'd rented, nickering softly.  She'd picketed them out in the fresh grass to enjoy the cool air until morning.

The moon over the water looked so lonely, so fragile: like just the right sound or the right word could shatter it.  She knew that feeling, didn't she?  It was so easy to fake during the daytime, easy to preoccupy herself with Kells, with . . . With Ashur—Ashur and his secrets that he held so stubbornly, guarded with a viciousness that she couldn’t understand—Ashur, with the eyes that were as warm as the summer sky, as cold as the winter's gale . . . and yet . . .

And yet, there was something about him, too: something she didn't really understand.  For all of his standoffishness, there was something that seemed almost vulnerable, even though he tried so desperately to hide it.  There was a certain melancholy, a level of sadness that dug so deep in him . . .

' _Sadness?_ ' her youkai-voice asked.

She nodded to herself a little vaguely.  Yes, it was sadness, though how she knew that, she wasn't certain.

' _He's sad . . . and maybe a little lonely . . . and . . . and hurting . . . like . . . like me . . ._ '

And that thought brought everything so sharply, so vividly into focus . . . Her da's last words to her on that awful day . . .

 _The room was dark, somber, almost stifling in the pale and stunted light that seeped through the heavy, blue damask curtains.  Daylight was too bright; it hurt his eyes, he said, but she wondered how much of that was true and how much was that he just didn't want her to see his condition for what it was.  Bad enough, she supposed, to see the gauntness in his face, in his arms and hands, in the shadows—the owlish way his eyes seemed to be sunken into his skull, the way that the coverlet on the grand bed did not rise and fall the way that it used to as her father slowly and painfully wasted away_ . . .

 _Reaching out to her, grasping her hand, he had trouble focusing on her face.  His breathing was harsh, reaching, as though he couldn't properly do it, and she gritted her teeth, tried not to let him see the despair she felt deep inside_.

" _Jessa . . . My beautiful Jessa_ . . ."

 _Lifting his hand to cradle against her cheek, she stubbornly bit back the tears that she felt rising.  "Da?_ "

 _He tried to smile.  "My lass, don't cry.  I'll be with your ma soon enough, and you . . . you be strong_."

" _Save your strength, Da," she pleaded quietly.  "Please_ . . ."

 _He rasped out a couple more shallow breaths.  "I don't have . . . the luxury . . . of time . . . I need you to . . . to hear me now_."

". . . _Okay_ . . ."

" _Watch out for . . . him . . ." he said.  "Pro . . . mise_ . . ."

" _Da?  Watch out for who?" she asked_.

 _His eyes slipped closed, and the one word he tried to say was lost in a flash of light, in a vortex of wind, as her hand closed on emptiness, as the first sob rattled out of her despite her father's wishes that she not shed tears_ . . .

The memory of that moment gave way to another one, a gauzier, more gossamer one of her father, of watching him as he stood alone amidst the ring of torches sparked to life in her mind.  At the time, she was so small that the memory itself was hazy, softened by the edges of passing time.  But she'd watched as he lifted his hands, as he closed his eyes for just a moment.  Focusing his youki?  She didn't know.

And all those torches flared around him, surrounding him in brilliant dancing flames . . .

"Jessa . . .?"

Her eyes flashed open, flaring wide at the sight of the flames—her flames—as they danced upon the water.  A moment later, she gasped as Ashur's arm closed around her wrist, turned her roughly, only to let go, to catch her as he pulled her toward him, crushed her body against his, as his lips fell on hers.

Pure fire.

That's what it was.  In the haze of her mind, the only thing that made sense was the absolute burn wherever their bodies met.  His kiss was rough yet tender, wild and controlled, a kiss meant to scorch her through and through as he grasped her hair, tugged her head back, his tongue burning like an inferno against her lips.  A trembling passion ignited, spread through her like a brushfire as his free hand caressed her back through the thin tee-shirt she'd worn to bed.

He groaned softly, the sound captured in her mouth as she sighed, and when he started to pull away, she reacted on instinct, lips pressing against that throbbing pulse of his throat as a ragged moan slipped from him, as he pulled her closer, letting go of her hair, grabbing her ass as he jerked her against him hard . . .

The shockwave that shot through her unleashed a series of tremors that rattled through her, straight to the core of her as a foreign surge of absolute desire rocked through her.  Her hands sank into his hair, holding onto him so tightly that she could feel every shattered breath he drew, every thump of his heart, beating in his chest.  The combustion of heat deep down was like standing too close to a raging fire, every touch of his hands resulting in a need so deep, so engulfing, that it left her reeling, spinning out of control as things she'd never felt before overwhelmed her, shocked her, frightened her, yet left her feeling as though she wanted— _needed_ —more . . .

The stroke of his tongue was electrifying, the swirl that raged faster and faster, dizzying, inebriating.  The stir of his hand, sliding over the fabric of her shirt set off another set of rapid-fire explosions, like every single nerve in her body reacting on pure instinct.  Her mind shut down as pure sensation took over, as instinct pushed her, prodded her, as the sense of light and dark jumbled in her head, focusing instead on the silent demands of her body and of his.

"Damn," he murmured, his voice rough, thick, harsh.  "Jessa . . ."

"Ashur," she whispered, more of an exhalation than an actual sound.  He groaned again, let go of her, only to grasp her face in his hands, only this time, the kiss he gave her was infinitely sweet, heartbreakingly tender, and, with another stuttering breath, he sighed, kissing her forehead as he pulled her into a gentle hug.

It took a long moment before he trusted himself to speak, and before he did, he cleared his throat.  "You . . . You're not alone," he told her, his voice barely above a whisper.  "You'll never be alone again . . ."

"I . . ."

"Don't be afraid," he told her.  "I . . . I'll protect you . . ."

And something about his words touched her, held her, drove back that loneliness that she'd grown accustomed to during those cold and dark hours of the night.  She hugged him back, clung to him, as though she were afraid to let go, and it took her a minute to realize that the dampness under her cheek, against his skin . . .

It was her tears.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_A/N_** :
> 
> _Have a good weekend... See you Monday._
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
>  _** Silent Reader ——— xSerenityx020 ——— sutlesarcasm
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
>  _** minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
>  _** cutechick18 ——— lianned88 ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _That was it …?!_


	13. Lies

Staring out the opened windows at the beautiful mid-May morning, Ashur drew a deep breath and slowly sipped the mug of coffee in his hand, a half-smile tugging on his lips as he watched Jessa and Kells in the garden behind the house.  It kind of looked like they were dancing, but he wasn't entirely sure what they were doing, exactly.  It was keeping the boy entertained, which was saying something, in Ashur's estimation, considering that all he'd talked about for the last three days was the impending arrival of his aunt and uncle and cousins for his birthday  . . .

' _Three years old . . . Three years ago today . . ._ '

That thought was enough to obliterate the good mood that Ashur had carried since he'd woken up this morning.

 _Lying on the stone floor, entirely helpless to do a thing but to watch as Hana literally tore his mother to shreds, and the horrifying realization that everything he thought he had left was being torn away with every slash of her claws . . . Watching as Hana closed her hands around Yukina's throat, squeezing so hard that he heard the sickening sound of her delicate bones as they crunched and snapped . . . And when the senbon that had held him, immobile, was removed, he hadn't had a choice, had he?  Hadn't had a thing left in the world, but the unborn child still inside his mother's stomach . . . And a dying mother that had watched him with hatred and loathing in her eyes as he'd done the only thing he could do—as he'd cut her open and pulled Kells free, even as her body disintegrated in a harsh wind and a bitter gust of dust and dirt_ . . .

Three years . . .

Heaving a sigh as the sound of the doorbell jerked him out of his reverie, Ashur turned on his heel, strode through the house and into the foyer to answer the door.

"Very nice," Ben said, stepping inside as he let Nadia down.  Charity walked in behind her mate and set Emmeline down, too.  It was their first trip up to visit, the first time they saw the house in person instead of a few snapshots that he'd sent.  "I must admit, I didn't picture you as someone who would buy an estate like this, but it's pretty impressive."

"Glad you approve," Ashur replied dryly, ruffling each of the girls' hair in passing.  "Kells is in the back yard with Jessa," he told them.  That's all they waited to hear, taking off at a speed only devised by the young and the reckless.  A moment later, the sound of the French doors slamming echoed through the house, and Ashur slowly shook his head.

"Here," Charity said, handing Ashur a small but beautiful potted plant that looked like a number of bamboo stalks, all growing together.  "Housewarming present.  It's a lucky bamboo, but it's actually a member of the Dracaena family.  It's good fortune," she told him.

He chuckled.  "Thank you," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek before arching an eyebrow at his brother.  "Where's your present?" he asked, hefting an eyebrow to underline his question.

Ben laughed and clapped Ashur on the shoulder.  "For you?  I'll . . . I'll get you a gift card," he replied.

Charity rolled her eyes but slipped her arm under Ben's elbow.  "So, where's our birthday boy?"

"Jessa's teaching him how to dance . . . or something," he said.

Charity smiled and hurried past to go find the boy in question.  Ben started to follow, but Ashur stopped him.  "I wanted to talk to you," he said, figuring that now was as good a time as any.  "Did you find out anything?"

Ben made a face as he rubbed his forehead.  "Just because I'm familiar with the MacDonnough doesn't mean that he'd actually tell me anything, you know," he pointed out. "Even then, I can't really go around, accusing him of plotting someone's murder—if there even _was_ a murder.  I mean, you said yourself that Jessa indicated that her father was pretty incoherent when he'd made those accusations, right?  So, it's entirely possible that he was rambling."

He sighed.  "Maybe," he drawled, wandering toward the French doors, frowning as his gaze lit on the girl in question.  "I don't know.  It's just a feeling . . ."

"What do you mean?"

He shook his head, raising his forearm to lean on the doorframe as he stared outside.  "Just . . . the whole thing seems weird . . . The timing . . ."

Ben scowled thoughtfully as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and stood beside his brother.  "Okay, you've officially lost me.  Care to elaborate?"

"Different things she's said," Ashur replied.  "A lot of things that . . . that feel . . . oddly connected, I guess."

"As in . . .?"

He nodded once.  "As in, she says that her father thought that her mother was killed intentionally—murdered . . . And she said that someone asked her father to arrange a marriage to his son, but that her father had declined because they weren't true mates . . ." His frown darkened as something else occurred to him . . . Something else she'd said . . .  "And then she said that last year on her birthday, her parents suddenly wanted to hold her official debut into society; that her mother seemed like she was in a rush to see her married off, but  . . ." He narrowed his eyes as he slowly turned his head just far enough to pin Ben with a suspicious glower.  "But she died less than a month after that . . ."

"Which could add some credence to her father's idea that someone had her killed," Ben concluded slowly.  His eyes flared wide.  "Manami . . ."

"Manami?"

He nodded.  "She mentioned something about a family—she didn't say who—whose daughter would be an heiress to a fortune if her parents were to suddenly die.  She said that MacDonnough wanted to see the girl married to one of his lackeys . . ."

"You don't think . . .?"

Ben nodded again.  "Could be wrong, but . . ."

Ashur's eyes darkened to a stormy blue as his gaze shifted out the window once more, as they lit on Jessa as the girl appeared to be teaching Charity and the children a few dance steps.  The memory of that kiss near the pond flashed through his head, the mad passion that had nearly spiraled out of his control; the expression in her eyes when he'd finally pulled away—and the promise that he'd made to her, that he'd protect her . . . "But if we're not, then something needs to be done about it."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"He really likes you."

Jessa blinked and turned to look at Charity as the woman sat down on the stone bench beside her.  "Oh, uh . . . He's a really sweet boy . . ."

"I love watching them play," she went on, nodding at the children as they chased each other through the raised-bed flower garden.

They'd had the cake and ice cream—made a royal mess of it, actually—leave it to a few toddlers who were left to have at it when given their treats, and Kells, who normally didn't get sugar because of his hyperactive tendencies, was currently running it off in grand style, playing with the Nerf guns that his uncle had thought to give him.  The twins had their own, and, as far as Jessa could tell, it was a miracle that they hadn't lost all of the Nerf bullets yet.  Then again, Ben had gotten them refills, too, so there was that . . .

"I felt bad when we moved," Charity went on.  "I'd thought about asking Ben if we could stay longer in the city, just because of Kells, but Ashur needs to be up here, so . . ."

 "Ashur . . . He said he's one of the Zelig's generals," Jessa remarked.  "What . . . What does that mean?"

Charity looked surprised.  "What does it mean . . .?  To be one of oji-san's generals?"  She nodded.  "That means that he's in charge of this region—basically, he's answerable only to oji-san—my uncle—uh, the Zelig."

"He's in charge of the youkai, you mean."

Charity smiled.  "Yes, exactly."

"Then he's pretty important."

"Well, something like that," Charity agreed.  "Basically, it'll be up to him to monitor the region, to settle minor disputes if necessary, but if anything comes up that requires a hunt order or anything, the he'd recommend that to oji-san . . ."

She frowned.  It sounded a lot more important than Ashur had let on.

Charity sighed, flipping her hair back over her shoulder, affecting a casual air that seemed a little _too_ casual . . . "You two . . . You seem to be getting along better."

She didn't miss the overly cautious tone in Charity's voice.  "Do we?"

Nodding her head, her amber eyes shining gently in the late afternoon sun siphoning through the leaves above.   "I'm glad."

Jessa wasn't sure what to say about that.  To be honest, she wasn't entirely sure where she stood—or didn't stand, as the case may be.  Ever since that night—ever since that kiss . . .

Cautiously polite—maybe a little _too_ polite . . . That was a good way to describe it.  A cautiously polite distance, a cautiously polite isolation . . . and a loneliness that was far worse than any she'd ever known before . . .

" _You . . . You're not alone . . . You'll never be alone again_ . . ."

And the memory of those words . . . It cut her deep, left her raw and bleeding.

"I'll admit, I was hoping that the two of you would come to terms.  He could help you, and maybe you could help him, too . . ."

Biting her lip as she refrained from replying to Charity's statements, Jessa shifted uncomfortably, praying that the woman didn't notice her odd silence.  The forced distance, the backing away when she inadvertently came to close, the inscrutable looks when he thought that she wouldn't notice . . .

' _But . . . But that kiss . . ._ '

Deliberately closing down those particular thoughts was tough, mostly because, to be honest, she didn't really want to, and yet, the stubborn lilt of her pride was just enough to nudge them aside, locking the door on the memory since it wouldn't lead to anything but confusion . . . and a good dose of anger.

"I don't need his help," she replied tightly.

It must have been a little more sharp than she'd intended because Charity slowly turned to look at her, a very frank expression of bewilderment on her beautiful features.  "You know, if you need someone to talk to," she finally said, carefully measuring, weighing, her words, "I'm a good listener . . . At least, that's what I've been told . . ."

Jessa shook her head, hooking an errant lock of hair behind her ear.  "It's nothing," she replied, forcing a smile that she wasn't really feeling.  The memory of just how fiercely Charity had defended Ashur just after her arrival was still too fresh in her head, too clear, and at the moment, the last thing she wanted or needed was to hear that particular man's virtues lauded.

Charity didn't look like she believed Jessa, but she did let the subject drop.  "Okay, but . . ."  She laughed softly, offered a little bounce of her shoulders.  "You seem like a really sweet young woman . . . I just hate to see you, looking so down."

Jessa watched as Charity stood, called to the girls and Kells to take them inside and wash them off since they were all pretty well covered with cake and icing and melted ice cream.  She gathered them up and shot Jessa a bright smile as she herded them toward the house.

Jessa let out a deep breath, shaking her head just a bit at the complete and utter devastation that was the once-clean outfit that she'd helped Kells pick out for his special day.  If it could be washed clean, she'd be amazed.  She started to step over, to clean up the wreckage left on the patio table, but her cell phone rang, and she glanced at it, only to smile slightly when the name appeared on the caller ID.  It took a second for the video feed to load.

"Hey, girlfriend!  How's Canada?"

Jessa rolled her eyes.  "In a word?  Boring," she replied.  "Boring . . . and stupid and insufferable and ridiculous and maddening and stupid and irritating and _stupid_ —"

"Oh, my God!  That was three 'stupid's in one sentence," Carol interrupted with a raised eyebrow as she rolled over onto her back, suspending the phone over her face.  "For some reason, I don't think you're talking about Canada nearly as much as you might be talking about someone _in_ Canada . . . Want to make me guess or should I already know?"

Jessa sighed, propping the phone against the umbrella pole in the middle of the table before plopping down, crossing her arms and letting her chin drop onto them.  "Sorry," she grumbled, her cheeks pinking as she made a face.  "You didn't call to hear me complain.  Canada's great, fantastic, just beautiful . . . So, how's the city?"

"The city's fine—a little less gorgeous since you're not here . . ." Carol sighed.  "All right, so tell me what he did to put you in such a mood."

Jessa shot Carol an imploring sort of look.  "I miss you," she admitted, unable to stop the quiver of her lips, her nostrils, at the quiet reply.  "Can't you just hop on a plane or . . . or rent a car and drive up here?  Just for a day or two?"

Carol's face shifted into an exaggerated pout.  "I wish I could . . . Daphne and Sondra quit, so I've been pulling doubles for the last couple weeks.  Hell, today's my first day off, and I had to threaten Stan to get it.  He said that he's looking for a couple new girls to take up the slack, but you know how he is . . ."

"I'm so sorry," Jessa murmured since her unexpected vacancy had also left them short-handed already.

Carol waved off her concern and smiled.  "It's okay.  The extra money's pretty damn nice.  Anyway, back to you . . . Tell me what Ashur's done?"

Jessa sighed, biting her lip as her gaze slipped to the side, as the color in her cheeks deepened, and she didn't have to look to see it.  "He . . . He kissed me," she said quietly.

"Really?" Carol squeaked, her voice rising about ten decibels. "Jessa!  I want details!  No, I _need_ details!  Was it hot?  I mean, sure, of course it had to have been hot . . . Was it just a peck or was it a _kiss_ kiss?"

She made a face.  "It was . . . It was . . ." Giving up with a tiny half-whimper, Jessa slowly shook her head.  "He's pretending that it never happened," she finally said.  "Like it was . . . was nothing . . ."

"Oh, ouch," Carol murmured.  "Is he around?  I have a few choice things I'd like to say to him."

Jessa choked out a laugh.  "No, no," she said.  "I mean, it's . . . It's not a big deal, right?  It was . . . It was just a kiss," she went on with a little more conviction than she actually felt.  "No big deal.  People kiss all the time, and it doesn't mean anything."

"Do _you?_ " Carol challenged quietly.  "Somehow, I don't think you're that type—and I wonder if he is."

"Of course, he is," Jessa argued, her irritation rising when Carol tried to defend him.  "Otherwise . . ." She grimaced.  "You're supposed to be siding with me."

Carol laughed.  "I am, Jess!  I mean, think about it.  If he were a guy who just randomly and thoughtlessly kissed women whenever?  Do you think he'd be playing the stand-off game?"

Jessa snorted.  "Yes, actually, I think he would."

Shaking her head as she set her phone into a stand and reached for a bottle of dark purple nail polish, Carol shrugged.  "Are you kidding?  A guy like that would have done a hell of a lot more than just kiss you, and he'd be kissing you all the time, too, because he'd be trying to get to the fucking . . ."  She looked up from polishing her toenails.  "You didn't fuck him yet, did you?"

"No!" Jessa hissed, sitting up straight as she quickly glanced around, as her skin exploded in a brilliant shade of instant mortification.  "Carol!"

Carol laughed—an entirely pleasant sound, actually, even if Jessa couldn't rightfully appreciate it at the moment.  "See?  If you think about it, it makes perfect sense.  There's not a doubt in my mind that you'd have fucked him if he had pushed the issue.  The fact that he didn't just reinforces the idea that he isn't that type, either."

Rubbing her forehead, Jessa shot Carol a dark scowl. "Okay, then, if you're so smart, tell me why he's acting so . . . so bloody _polite_."

Carol's laughter died away, but her smile didn't.  "Maybe because he's supposed to be your guardian?  Even if you turned eighteen, that doesn't mean that he wouldn't feel like he's taking advantage of you."

She stopped, considered that since she hadn't thought of it quite like that before.  Was there some truth in that?  Could his behavior since that night been simply the product of, what?  A guilty conscience . . .?

"Do you want to kiss him again?"

Blinking as she shook off the train of thought that she'd been sidetracked on, Jessa cleared her throat.

"So, you do," Carol said, drawing her own conclusions from Jessa's non-reply.

She sighed, cupping her chin in her open palm, elbow resting on the table top.  "Well, that won't be happening," she muttered as her irritation sparked once more.  "He'll barely speak two words to me unless he has to, and he never comes near me if it can be helped."

Carol considered that then shrugged as she went back to painting her toenails.  "Nah, it's easy," she countered.

"Easy?  How so?"

"Oh, Jess . . . You have two options: you can either go up to him and start the kissing . . . or you can just do whatever it was you did before that made him want to kiss you, in the first place."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Benjiro!  How nice to hear from you!" Manami greeted, her smile brilliant as she sat back on the white sofa in her living room and brought up her knees, curling them to the side as she reached for a cup of steaming hot tea.  "And Kyouhei—Oh, _Ashur_ —sorry . . . You look well."

Ben chuckled.  "And you look beautiful, as always," he replied.

"And Ashur?  How are you?"

He nodded, willing himself to relax, unsure why the sense of foreboding had been building throughout the day.  "Fine, thanks," he replied, growing more impatient with the perfunctory pleasantries.

"So, to what do I owe the honor of receiving a phone call from the two most handsome men on the planet—and speaking of handsome men, where is that absolutely delicious Kells?"

"He's working off the sugar that was plied on him today," Ashur said.  "I have a question for you, Manami.  Ben tells me that you mentioned something to him before about a family in Europe?  The father didn't want his daughter to be married off to one of MacDonnough's men?"

She frowned thoughtfully, tilting her head to the side as she tried to remember.  "Oh, yes!  The marquess . . . I hear he died recently . . ."

"Actually, his wife was killed a little over a year ago," Ashur went on.  "At least, if it's the same family."

"Marquess Aumberlese?  Or rather, Niall O'Shea?"

Ashur shot Ben a narrow-eyed look, and Ben nodded.  "Didn't you say something about MacDonnough wanting you to kill them?" Ben asked.

"Him," she agreed.  "Potatoes, potahtoes . . . I mean, the end result would have been the same."

Ben frowned.  "She was killed in a random car accident—or maybe not so random, I'm starting to think."

Manami's frown darkened as she set her tea mug aside.  "Then you recall the other . . . problem . . . I told you about, Benjiro?"

"What, 'other problem'?" Ashur demanded.

Manami sighed.  "When Marquess Aumberlese and his wife made out their wills, they filed them with Ian MacDonnough, which means, he holds the only copy of it, and if Ian . . . lost it . . . then the heiress would be subject to the old laws, which means . . ."

Ben grimaced.  "Which means that her entire estate and title would lie in escrow until such time that she married."

"Which makes sense as to why her parents might have wanted to rush her into finding her mate—her parents knew.  That's why . . ." Ashur concluded.  "What a bastardly thing to do . . ."

Manami chuckled, but it was an empty kind of sound, far more ironic than humorous.  "Ian MacDonnough _is_ a bastard," she pointed out.  "One of these days, he's going to overstep himself—and I, for one, cannot wait to see him get his comeuppance."  Her smile shifted into one that was far closer to her normal ebullience.  "Tell me, why the interest in this now?"

"She's staying with me," Ashur replied.  "She's Myrna's cousin."

"Myrna's cousin?  You don't say . . ."

Ashur wasn't nearly as amused as Manami seemed to be.  "The police removed her from her estate when she called to report her father's death," he said.  "She was barely allowed to take anything with her—not even a change of clothing."

"Hmm . . ." Manami drawled.  "Keep her hidden, then," she suggested.  "If Ian knows where she is currently, I have very little doubt that he'd send that oaf of his in to claim the girl, willing or not."

Ashur snorted.  "What oaf?"

She rolled her eyes, her distaste quite evident.  "I would assume it'd be the same buffoon that tried to set his son up with her in the beginning," she said.  "Duke Portsmouth—or most assuredly, his son, Hughbert."

Ashur nodded and slowly shifted his gaze to lock with his brother's.  "Ben, what can you find out about this guy . . . and how fast?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** NyteAngel ——— minthegreen ——— Alice ——— Amanda Gauger
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Denyell ——— cutechick18 ——— oblivion-bringr ——— lianned88 ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from Ashur**_ :  
>  _The Duke of Portsmouth?  Sounds like a pompous ass_ …


	14. Slow Burn

Jessa grunted as she hopped forward, jabbing with her left, then her right, before dancing back out of the way as Ashur swung his mitt-covered hands.  She repeated it over and over, shaking her head to redirect the perspiration that ran down her face.  Hair that had escaped the braid she'd pulled it back into, sticking to her skin, expression a mask of concentration as she jabbed and moved, jabbed and moved.

"Good, good," Ashur coached, swinging at her as she backed out of the way.  "Keep it up."

She breathed, shallow and harsh, hitting again before ducking away.  She didn't know how long they'd been at it, and she didn't really care, either.  Given the weeks of frustrations that had been building up deep down, the physical exertion was a welcome distraction.

"Okay, that's enough," Ashur said a few minutes later, stepping away as he tugged off the mitts and set them aside.

"Look, Daddy!" Kells called.  He was busy, trying to punch the stuffing out of a huge teddy bear on the floor.  The thing was at least twice his size, so there really wasn’t any danger that he would hurt himself—or the bear, actually.

Jessa smiled just a little as she blotted her overheated face and neck with a dry towel.

"You're improving," he said, nodding at her solemnly.

"What about me, Daddy?"

Ashur glanced at Kells again and didn't quite smile, though his eyes brightened as he gazed at the boy.  "You, too, Kells."

Kells positively glowed at his father's praise.  Suddenly, he gasped, trying to work the small gloves off his hands as his father stepped over to help him out.  "Hurry, Daddy!  It's almost time for _Chuck the Chameleon_!"

He'd barely gotten the gloves off the child before Kells took off for the house.

Ashur slowly shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest with Kells' small boxing gloves dangling by the laces from his fingers.  "I'm pretty sure that he watches entire too much television," he muttered more to himself than to her.

Jessa dropped the towel and turned to scowl at the tiki torches that he'd set up at the edge of the patio.

It had become her routine every day, to stand here and to light those torches.  She'd gotten pretty good at lighting them, one at a time, but she hadn't been able to replicate anything even remotely close to what she'd done that night on the water.  Willing herself to be patient, she drew a few deep, calming breaths as the first torch shot to life, followed in quick order by the rest of them—all five.  Fast, but not all at the same time.  With a sigh, she waved a hand, and the flames all died out, one by one.

She repeated the process a few more times, always getting close but just not quite good enough.  By the end of her fifth try, though, Ashur stepped over.  "You're getting better," he told her.  "You should stop before your frustration rises too high."

"I'm not frustrated," she lied, turning away with a heavy sigh.

"I can sense it in your youki," he countered evenly.  "You won't get anywhere if—"

"If I lose control," she cut in.  "I got it, thanks."

She could feel his gaze on her, boring into the back of her skull, as she snatched up the towel once more and started to stalk off toward the house.

He caught her wrist, tugged her around, those blue eyes of his full of questions that he had yet to give voice to.  "Jessa, what's the matter?"

Narrowing her eyes on him, she tried to yank her wrist away, but he held on, not tightly enough to hurt her, but not loose enough for her to break the hold, either.  "Nothing," she ground out, unable to keep a grip on her rapidly escalating temper.  "Nothing at all, you odious man.  Now, let me go."

"Odious?" he repeated, eyebrows lifting in genuine surprise.  "You're mad at me?  Why?"

She snorted.  "Just think about it, will you?" she growled, wrenching herself out of his grasp and stomping off.  "If you concentrate long enough, maybe the answer will come to you."

Muttering under her breath about horrible men and stupid memories that she couldn't get out of her head, she slammed the back door, momentarily pleased at the racket that the action had caused.

She was halfway up the stairs when Ashur caught up with her.  Her scathing reply had apparently irked him, and when he grabbed her arm this time, he spun her around, nearly making her lose her footing as she crashed against him, as he caught her and held on.  "Explain yourself, Jessa," he growled, dealing her a hard shake.

Narrowing her eyes on him, she snorted loudly.  "I don't think so," she replied.  "Let go of me."

Blue eyes blazing with the light of utter exasperation, he echoed the sound she'd just made.  "Not until you tell me just what the hell has you so up in arms," he shot back.

"You!" she spat, stomping her foot as her irritation crested and exploded.  "You!  How dare you kiss me like that and then pretend like I don't even exist!  How dare you crawl into my mind, make me think about you, and then leave me like that!  You swore I wouldn't be alone, didn't  you?  And yet, I am!  Entirely alone!  If you don't want me, then that's fine, Ashur Philips, but if you don't, then don't kiss me, either!"

He blinked at her tirade only for a moment.  "That's . . . what you're mad about?" he blurted.  Then he sighed and let go of her.  "Look, Jessa . . . You have to understand.  I'm not supposed to kiss you," he told her.  "You're . . . You're barely a woman, and I'm a grown man.  What happened that night . . . It shouldn't have, and you should realize that, too . . ."

The crack of her hand against his cheek sounded like thunder in her ears.  "Go to hell," she bit out, whipping around, taking the stairs two at a time as she fled from him.  Somehow, his statements were just a little more than she could stand.  Slamming her door closed and locking it against him, she spun around, collapsed against the unforgiving wood, and as quickly as the anger had come, it abandoned her, leaving behind a sense of melancholy so deep, so overwhelming, that she groaned and sank to the floor . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

' _Well, that can't possibly have gone any worse._ '

Heaving a sigh at the sound of his youkai-voice's overly-dry assessment, Ashur scowled at the empty stairway.

He hadn't meant to kiss her that night, no.  He'd awoken when she had slipped out of the cabin and had followed her just to see what she was doing.  To be completely honest, he wasn't sure why he had kissed her.  He certainly hadn't intended to do any such thing, but seeing her there, bathed in the moonlight, the sadness in her aura such a harsh and palpable thing, he couldn't help it, couldn't stop himself, drawn to her like a moth to a flame . . .

' _Don't be stupid, Ash.  You kissed her because you_ did _want to—you wanted to for days before that, and you want to even more now._ '

He frowned.  He _shouldn't_ want to kiss her, damn it.  That was entirely asinine.  He was old enough to be her grandfather a few times over, wasn't he?  A girl like her needed someone closer to her own age, someone who could find the same wonder at the things that they saw, not some old man who was too screwed up to even begin to make sense out of his own life, let alone to allow someone like her into it, too.

' _Would it really be so bad?  I mean, think about it.  Before you go all, 'oh, I'm a terrible person; I took advantage of an innocent girl,' you should probably remember that she wanted that kiss as badly as you did._ '

' _She's too young to know what she wants._ '

' _You know, far too many men in this world have tried to use that excuse at one time or another, only to have their asses handed to them because the women tend to think that's a pretty damn condescending answer._ '

He grunted.  ' _Oh?  And what do you suggest?  That I go up there and grab her and do the things that have been going through my head?_ '

' _And if she wants that, too?  That girl—woman . . ._ '

' _She's not old enough_ nor _experienced enough to know what she wants, damn it._ '

' _And that's the problem, isn't it?_ '

' _No, now shut up . . ._ '

' _Fine, but you listen to me about one thing first.  Even if it wasn't your intention, you hurt her.  Maybe you should at least go try to explain yourself a little better, don't you think?  Because you didn't mean to do that._ '

Letting out a deep breath, he almost turned and stomped back downstairs out of sheer stubbornness.  The memory of the stricken expression on her face, though, was enough to draw him forward, carried him down the hallway to her closed door.

It was locked—entirely not surprising—and he only deliberated it for a minute before jamming his claw into the hole to release it.

She wasn't in her room, but when he stepped inside, he could hear the shower running in the adjoining bathroom, and, with another sigh, he closed the door and strode over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it to wait for her.

The biggest problem, as far as he could tell, was that girl was entirely too desirable for her own good.  He could only truly be glad that she really didn't seem to realize as much because if she ever did figure it out, he'd be done like dinner, period.

Somehow, he'd stupidly thought that kissing her would have gotten all of it out of his system.  Nope, just the opposite, actually, which was why he was trying so hard to maintain the distance between them.  It perplexed him, damned if it didn't.  He'd slept with enough women over the years to realize that something about Jessa was . . . different . . . even if he had no idea why that was.  Being with those women had always been a physical thing, and once satiated, he didn't give it a second thought.  Something about Jessa . . .

' _It scares you, doesn't it?_ '

' _What?  Scared?  Of her?  How the hell could I_ possibly _be scared of her? That would be like being scared of a . . . kitten . . . or a puppy . . ._ '

' _Baka!  No, not scared of her.  You're scared of the things that she makes you feel—the things that she_ could _make you feel—not just physically, but emotionally.  Tell me I'm not wrong._ '

He never got a chance to answer.  The bathroom door suddenly swung open with a waft of moist air that smelled of water and of flowers, and Jessa stepped out in nothing but a bath sheet that she held loosely around herself.

She gasped as she stopped short, eyes flaring wide as color blossomed in her cheeks, hair weighed down by water that dripped from the ends, trailing down her shoulders, her chest, only to disappear in the gorgeous curve of her breasts.  Ashur opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to do much more than stare as he slowly got to his feet, as he stumbled toward her.

She stared at him, crimson eyes darkening as she stood her ground.  Whether that was brave or incredibly naïve, he didn't know, and he didn't care as he grasped her arms, pulled her toward him as his lips fell on hers.  The instant wave of passion shot through him with the finesse of a bulldozer, crushing his defenses before he could even hope to raise them up, as every excuse he'd made came crashing down around him like hail.

The sound of her heartbeat—erratic and wild—throbbed in his ears.  The feel of her skin, still damp from the shower, was like a drug, an aphrodisiac, as he ran his hands up over her bared back, the ripples, the valleys, the gentle slopes, every plane, every hollow digging deep into his memory while the sweetness of her breath on her flushed lips silently beckoned him.

Whimpering softly against his mouth as the kiss grew, deepened, she let go of the towel, her arms encircling his neck, fingers digging into his hair as she gave as good as she got despite the slight sense of clumsiness, attesting to the fact that, other than that night by the pond, she really hadn't ever been kissed before.

And it was that understanding that broke through the haze, that made him pull away from her as he struggled to breathe.  She kissed his jaw, his throat, and he winced as he fought for some semblance of control over his raging need, but the touch of her lips on his skin was enough to drag a low moan from him.  "J . . . Jessa . . . "

She lifted her head to look at him, her eyes darkened, stained with passion, smoldering with need that she didn't try to hide.  The absolute lust in her gaze was nearly enough to break him as he swallowed hard, as he struggled to calm the blood raging inside him.

"I shouldn't . . . want you," he told her, his voice low, harsh in his own ears.  For a moment, he thought that she was going to hit him again as he quickly retrieved her towel, wrapped it around with her noticeably shaking hands.  "I shouldn't," he said again, "but I . . . I do . . ."

She ducked her chin for a moment, wrapping her arms over her stomach after tucking in the edge of the towel between her breasts.  "Because . . . Because you don't . . . don't want to," she murmured.

The sadness in her tone chafed at him, dug at him deep.  "You're eighteen years old," he said, wishing he could make her understand.

"And that makes me too childish to know how I might feel?" she challenged quietly.

"No, that's not what I'm saying . . ." Heaving a sigh, he turned away from her—away from the sight of her, of her bared shoulders, of the rise of her breasts . . . "Your life has changed so much in the last few months—the last year—and I . . . I understand that because three years ago, mine changed like that, too."

"When Kells was born," she said, a resignation rife in her voice, saturating her words, almost as though she'd just given up.

"I don't want to be your lifetime regret," he whispered as he forced his feet to carry him to the door.

Slipping out of her room, he let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling without seeing it at all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

" _I don't want to be your lifetime regret._ "

Sinking onto the edge of the bed, dropping her head into her cupped hands, Jessa heard the words, over and over again, as she struggled to make sense of them.  Her lifetime regret?

She sighed, the sounds echoing in her hands.  Okay, that much she could understand.  If things got carried away . . . But . . .

What was it about him that made her forget every bit of her own resolve?  There was a certain . . . electricity that she felt whenever he was near, as though every nerve in her body was attuned to him, just waiting for him to give one look, one indication . . .

Biting her lip, she glanced around the room—a room that was hers, and yet not hers at all.  Just a place where she slept, not one that she felt was her home, and yet, there was a strange sense of familiarity about it, too, though she had a feeling it had more to do with Kells and Ashur than it did the house itself.  It felt as though . . .

' _Go on, Jessa . . . You can say it, you know._ '

But she couldn't, could she?

' _You could, you know.  It's okay to be afraid. I'm a little afraid, too, but if you can't admit it to yourself, then you have no business thinking about Ashur, at all._ '

Pushing herself to her feet, she wandered over, tossing the towel back onto the bed as she tried not to think about that moment—that instant—when she'd stepped out of the bathroom, only to find him sitting there, staring at her, and the way he'd looked at her . . .

There was an intensity in his gaze that had stopped her in her tracks, had forced the air out of her lungs, as though her entire body was paralyzed.  All she'd known was that he had wanted her, and she . . . Swallowing hard as she yanked open the drawer where she kept her undergarments, she grabbed the first pair of panties she laid hands on.

She'd been completely unprepared for the shockwave that had rattled straight through her when he'd grabbed her, when he'd kissed her—unprepared for the desperation, the need in that insular touch of his lips on hers, unprepared for the insanity that spun her brain in so many different directions that she had to cling to him, that she'd had to let him hold her or she'd fall. 

" _Your life has changed so much in the last few months—the last year—and I . . . I understand that because three years ago, mine changed like that, too._ "

Just what had he meant by that?  Again, she was struck by the underlying things—the things that he didn't say.  She didn't have to be brilliant to have realized awhile ago that there were things in Ashur's past—things that he didn't want to talk about.  She could understand that, too.  After all, she had things that she didn't particularly want to dwell upon herself.  For some reason, though, she couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, if she could get him to open up about those things, she might well understand him a lot more.

The thing was, she couldn't bring herself to ask him, either.  Those things, she could tell, hurt him deeply, maybe as deeply as she hurt when she thought about her parents too long, and for some reason, the very idea that she might cause him pain if she tried to delve too deeply into his past wasn't something she could bring herself to do.

She was fascinated by him, compelled to be near him, drawn to him in ways that she really hadn't realized were even possible—ways that were as frightening as they were exhilarating, as deep and dark as they were brilliant and breathtaking . . .

' _And the problem is that you built up that wall, didn't you?  After your mother died, when you knew your father would follow her, you spent all that time, creating this inner wall, and I'm not saying it was right or wrong.  The only one who can decide that is you.  You built that wall to protect yourself, but you know, Jessa . . . If you want to take that step—if you truly want to—then you're going to have to find a way to bring those walls down again because, with that man, it's all or nothing.  There won't be any middle ground._ '

"No middle ground . . ." she repeated out loud as she slowly worked the buttons on the white sundress she'd grabbed out of the closet.  It was the first thing she'd touched, so she wasn't really paying much attention to it.  ' _But how . . .?_ '

Her youkai-voice sighed.  ' _One thing at a time, Jessa.  That's how you built the wall, isn't it?  And that's the only way to take it down again—if that's what you want to do._ '

Rubbing her arms as she wandered over to the windows that overlooked the stables and the paddocks beyond, Jessa blinked as the outline of her horse seemed to appear for only a moment before fading away again, as the emptiness that she'd grown so accustomed to opened up in the pit of her stomach once more, as a steady rain started to fall against the window panes.

Against her soul . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader ——— xSerenityx020 ——— sutlesarcasm
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda+Gauger ——— minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** cutechick18 ——— lianned88
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from Jessa**_ :  
>  _Why does he always have to stop?_


	15. Confusion

Jessa sat under the overhang of a very old tree near the small pond on Ashur's estate, tucked away in one of the eastern corners with a book in her hand that had slipped closed over her thumb as she stared out over the water with a sad sort of expression on her face.

The late May breeze was crisp and fresh, carrying with it the scent of earth and green things.  Ashur had taken Kells to visit a preschool that was said to be one of the finest in the area, though Jessa had her doubts that the boy in question actually would want to go to school.  Given that Ashur tended to let him do as he wanted, for the most part, maybe curbing his impulses in a preschool setting might do Kells a little bit of good . . .

And she'd found out about the preschool visit from Kells, who had mentioned it this morning as he woke her up by bouncing on her bed.

Ashur . . .

Making a face as she rather roughly yanked her hair over her shoulder as she dropped the book on the sparse grass beside her, she twisted the locks around and around.

It figured, she supposed.  In the ten days since the second kiss, he hadn't spoken more than two words at a time to her.  She hadn't actually thought that it could be worse than before.  She was wrong—dead wrong.  He seemed to be entirely set on ignoring her existence in the most polite and maddening way possible.

She'd opted to get out of the house, to go for a walk, and she'd ended up here.  It was as good a place as any to finish her book in peace.  At least, somebody, somewhere was getting a happy ending, even if it was entirely fictional.

The chime of her cell phone announced an incoming text. It was from Myrna, asking how she liked Canada.  For a brief moment, she considered telling her cousin that she didn't want to be here.  Then she sighed.  Even if Myrna did come get her, what was the point when it was beyond obvious that she wasn't at all interested in having Jessa around?  She texted back the perfunctory, 'everything's good, fine, love it here', and dropped the phone onto the book.

She felt like she was going mad, and she felt like she had all the time in the world to do it, too.  Never in her life had she understood or even remotely grasped just why anyone would ever run away from home.  Thanks to Ashur and his ridiculous sense of propriety, she was starting to appreciate the idea.  If she had somewhere to run to, she would probably be thinking it over even more.  As it was, though, she didn't, and even if she did, she only had the money she'd made while working at the club and the added pittances that she'd made for watching Kells, too.

' _Even if we could, would you really want to leave them?_ '

Snorting inwardly, she snatched the book off the ground and stubbornly buried her nose in whatever page she'd randomly opened.

' _You can pretend to ignore me, if that is your wish, but you really can't ignore a voice in your own head, Jessa._ '

' _Maybe,_ ' she answered in a clipped little tone.  ' _Why shouldn't I?  There's really no point in staying here.  Besides, it's not like he'd really care if I did leave, now would he?  Then he could keep up appearances—be a good, upstanding citizen . . . That's what he's the most concerned about, isn't it?_ '

' _Is that what you really think?  That he's only concerned about his own image?_ '

' _Isn't that what he said?_ ' she snapped, clapping the book closed as she stuffed it back into the knapsack she'd brought along with a bottle of water and a few dry crackers.

' _You know, I honestly think he was saying that about you, not him.  I think he was more concerned that you'd be somehow ruined . . ._ '

' _And you know that I'm really starting to get sick and tired of you, defending him,_ ' she countered.  ' _Stop trying to make me feel bad when he's the one who cannot make up his mind!_ '

That was the gist of it, wasn't it?  He was the one who couldn't control his urges; he's the one who had opted to kiss her.  She certainly hadn't asked him to do it either time.  That was all on him, which had led her to another odd thought during one of her more interesting mental tirades.  She had to admit that kissing him was entirely nice—at least, until he'd pulled away from her, that was.  But the truth of it was that she really didn't have a basis for comparison since she stubbornly refused to acknowledge any stolen kisses when she'd worked at the club.  Those were sloppy and reeked of alcohol.  Those were no different than kissing the back of her own hand.  Well, okay, so, kissing her own hand might well be more enjoyable than those were.

In any case, she had decided that kissing Ashur really couldn't be that much different.

' _You don't honestly believe that, do you?_ '

' _Yes,_ ' she insisted, breaking the seal on the water  bottle with a deft twist.  ' _Yes, I do._ '

If she had access to her parents' accounts, she could go home, where things made sense, where she felt like she belonged . . . Where there were no infuriating earth-youkai to muddle her thoughts and linger way too long in her mind.

Her frown turned thoughtful.  It had been over two months since her father had died.  Surely, they had to be making progress on the whole thing, and she didn't have a cell phone since they'd seized hers at the time, so they had no real way to reach her, either . . .

Letting out a deep breath that lifted the long bangs on her forehead, straight up in the air, Jessa frowned and dug a business card out of her bag.  She didn't remember exactly who had given it to her, but she'd been handed it along with her passport just before they'd dropped her off at the airport.

 _'Gregory Halsbeck, Irish Consulate_ ,' it read, along with an email address and a couple of phone numbers.  Before she could talk herself out of it, she dialed one of them.

"Hello. You have reached the Irish Consulate.  If you know your party's extension, you may dial it now . . ."

She keyed in the four digit extension and made a face when she was sent straight to voicemail.  "Hello, Mr. Halsbeck? My name is Jessa—um, Jessamyn—O'Shea.  I was given a card with your name and number a couple months ago when I was forced to go stay with my cousin in the States while my parents' estate was ironed out.  I was wondering if you had any more information regarding the disbursement of my parents' estate?  I'd appreciate a return call.  My number is 555-555-5555.  Thank you . . ."

Letting the phone drop once more, she slumped back against the tree.  She felt stuck, didn't she?  Entirely stuck, and, as far as she could tell, there wasn't a single being on earth who really gave a damn about her, either.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Ah, Mr. Philips.  I'm sorry to keep you waiting.  I'm Renee Thomas, the administrator here at the Kinder Center," the middle-aged woman said, striding into the very regal office with a smile on her face as she extended a hand, her two inch stack heels thumping against the thin Oriental carpet situated in the middle of the room.  "And you must be Kells!" she went on, letting go of Ashur's hand after a very curt shake.  "It's a pleasure to meet you, young man!"

Kells nodded, smiling widely as the woman ruffled his hair before waving them over to the sofa.

"Oh, will your mate be joining us?" she asked, setting down a manila file that contained Kells' application before she leaned forward to pour coffee into two bone china cups on the tea tray arranged on the shining coffee table.

"It's Mommy's day off!" Kells blurted before Ashur could disabuse the woman of the notion.

"Oh," she replied, looking a little perplexed.  "I see . . ."

"Uh . . ."

"Jessa's my mommy, and she's really pre-e-e-e-etty," Kells added.

Ashur wondered vaguely if the woman would find it odd if he clapped a hand over his child's overzealous mouth.  "Jessa's not his mother.  She's his nanny."

"Ah, that makes sense!" she replied, turning her attention to her paperwork as she gestured at the cup of coffee.  "I have to admit, this is a little unusual," Ms. Thomas said as she looked up from Kells' enrollment application.  "You understand, normally we have a rather long waiting list.  Right now, it stands at about eight months to a year, however, I got a call from Gin Zelig about a week ago, and she asked if there was any way to move you up in the waiting list."  She smiled pleasantly and gave a little bob of her shoulders.  "As you are undoubtedly aware, we are a specialized preschool, and we only take youkai children because we, unlike the others, work with our children to give them a solid foundation of how to harness and utilize their various potentials, focusing on their abilities to control their emotions, so, when you get a call from the wife of the tai-youkai, you pay attention."

Ashur nodded slowly.  He did know about the special qualities of the preschool, and it was one of the reasons that he'd opted to fill out the application.  Even so, some small things did worry him a little, and he wanted to have those things addressed before he shelled out the ungodly exorbitant price for admission.  "Elitism amongst the youkai isn't part of your curriculum, is it?"

Her smile didn't falter, didn't waver.  "You'll be happy to know that we do have a number of hanyou registered here, and they're all very happy—thriving, even."

"I meant against humans," he clarified.

"Oh, no, we absolutely do not condone any kind of that sort of behavior at all.  If we see it, even a hint of it, we take care to nip it at the bud, so to speak."

"Good."

She turned her gentle smile on Kells, who was staring at an arrangement of fake fruit rather intently, like he was trying to decide whether he thought they were real.  "Tell me, Kells . . . Do you know your ABCs yet?"

Kells nodded and proceeded to start singing the _Alphabet Song_.

"Very good!" she said, clapping her hands as she praised the boy.  "Can you count to twenty?"

Kells nodded again.  "I can count to a hundred!"

"That's very impressive," she replied.  "He seems very advanced for his age," she said, turning her attention back to Ashur once more.

"He also knows his colors, can tie his own shoes—"

"And I can swim, too!" Kells interrupted.

Ashur grunted.  "He also can't sit still for more than ten seconds, can't keep his mouth closed for more than fifteen seconds, and can't have sugar, ever, or you'll be very, very sorry."

"Daddy!" Kells blurted, tugging on Ashur's arm.  "Jessa loves chocolate.  Can we gets her some chocolate?"

Ashur's answer was a very long, very drawn-out sigh as he leveled a look at the administrator.

She laughed.  "I think we have a spot here for Kells," she said.  "Here's a list of the things that he'll need.  We don't have an opening till Tuesday, July 6.  A family is moving, and their son's spot will be available then.   Anyway, this list is just a few little things—facial tissues, a box of wet-naps, that kind of thing.  Here's a detailed list of our rules—nothing bad.  Just normal standards of behavior that we expect, even from small children . . . and here's a copy of our dress code.  I trust that won't be a problem?"

Glancing over the paperwork, Ashur slowly shook his head.  "No, it's fine," he said.  The sheet with the dress code actually contained lists of shops where the various things could be purchased, so that helped immensely.

Ms. Thomas nodded as her smile brightened as she stood to escort them to the door.  "We do ask that you bring him in a half-hour or so early on his first day so that you can meet his teacher and help to get him acquainted . . . If you'd like to stay for awhile to make sure that he adjusts well, then we encourage that, too—and we do offer parents tissues for their own separation anxieties."

He smiled slightly and shook her hand again. "Thank you," he replied.  If you email me the information about his tuition, I'll pay for it then."

"Absolutely," she agreed, opening the door for them.  "Bye, Kells.  It was wonderful to meet you!"

"Bye!" Kells half-hollered as he hopped on out of the door.

Ashur shook his head and shot the woman an apologetic glance before following Kells out of the office, wondering almost absently if he could make the tyrant behave long enough to get his school uniforms . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Hello?  Miss?  Are you all right?"

Jessa awoke with a start, blinking fast as she struggled to dissipate the disorientation that clung to her brain.  She didn't remember falling asleep.

"Miss?"

She glanced around, stopping when she focused on the man before her.  He was hunkered down with one knee on the ground, his forearm resting on his other knee.  Staring at her with a slight frown, his dark blue eyes were candid, frank, his face lean, well-defined—almost too chiseled—too good looking—like Ashur, but in an entirely different way.  Ashur's face was a little softer, prettier, but this man . . . Not quite as pretty, per se, he looked more like a classic California surfer dude, she supposed.  His startlingly direct gaze seemed to take her in as the breeze tossed his collar-length, dark brown hair that was layered into wispy strands that seemed to catch the breeze and hold onto it.  He was youkai, she could tell, but she had no idea what type of youkai he was, either.

"Who are you?" he asked, his tone not really unfriendly, but not exactly welcoming, either.

"Who are you?" she countered, "and what are you doing here on Ashur's land?"

"Ashur's land?" he echoed, eyebrows raising to disappear under the shaggy fringe of bangs.  "Hmm . . . I thought this was mine . . ."

"Ashur said the pond's on his land," she replied cautiously.

"I suppose that's possible," he said.  "Technically speaking, I just bought my estate.  The closing on it was yesterday."  He smiled, an easy expression that added a sparkle to his eyes.  "I'm Dev—Devlin Broughton."

She frowned.  "You're British," she said.  "I'm Jessa O'Shea.  Pleased to meet you . . . maybe."

"And you're Irish," he countered with a chuckle.  "Well, if you're all right, then I'll not trouble you further," he said, pushing against his knees as he rose to his feet.

For some reason, she didn't want him to leave, not yet.  Maybe it was simply because he was the first person to have spoken to her—actually talked to her—in weeks.  Whatever the reason didn't matter.  She reached out, grasped his hand before he could stand.  "Wait," she blurted, unable to keep the slight note of panic out of her voice.  "I . . . I mean . . ." she sighed.

He stared at her for a long moment, his brow furrowing as he watched her.  She didn't rightfully know what he saw, but he slowly gave a nod as he settled back into his squat once more.  "Are you all right?" he asked again, only this time, his tone was softer, gentler.

She forced a small smile, flicked her hand in what she could only hope was a casual kind of way.  "Oh, yes . . . Right as rain," she lied.  "So, um . . . You just bought your property?  Does that mean you'll be here awhile?"

He shrugged, his expression a little on the tolerant side, as though he were humoring her, and, while it bothered her, she pushed that notion aside, feeling almost desperate, just to have someone—anyone—listen to her—talk to her.  "For awhile," he replied with an offhanded shrug.  "Seems like a nice area—a quiet area."

"A little boring, if you ask me," she said.

"There's something to be said for boring," he told her.  "Sometimes, it's preferable to  strife and contention."

"Seems like you know a bit about those things."

He ran his hand through his hair, and she watched as the strands all drifted back into their perfect semblance of messy disarray that seemed somehow perfect on him.  Broad but not bulky, lean but not skinny, hidden in the folds of a pair of jeans that were a little too big and a rumpled white v-neck tee-shirt that looked like he might have slept in it, and somehow, he seemed entirely approachable—maybe it had something to do with the quiet earnestness in his blue gaze . . . "When you grow up in London, you learn to appreciate the simple and unfussy things in life," he said.

She smiled, uttered an ironic sort of laugh.  "It's not reserved strictly for London."

He nodded slowly, smiled as he pushed himself to his feet again.  "Well, I was out for a ride, and spotted you . . . Thought that maybe you were a damsel in distress . . ."

"For a ride?" she repeated, her gaze shifting off of his face and lighting on the roan gelding tethered to a tree nearby.  "Oh . . ." she breathed as she slowly stood.  The animal was lovely, obviously well cared-for, a soft gray with black undertones . . . Without stopping to think about it, she stepped over to the creature, slowly reaching out to stroke his smooth and glossy side.  "He's beautiful," she breathed.

"I don't know him well yet," he admitted as she stopped beside her.  "He is the first one I made friends with, though."

She sighed as a sudden and savage jolt of wistfulness shot through her.  "I have a gypsy cob," she said.  "Back home, anyway . . ."

"You ride," he concluded.  "Do you have a horse here?"

She shook her head and gently stroked the animal's bulging jaw.  "No . . . There's a stable, but no horses . . . Pity . . ."

Tilting his head slightly as he looked at her, he seemed to be considering something.  She stepped back, letting her hand fall away as she smiled a little sadly.  "If you'd like to spend some time in my stable, you're welcome to do so," he offered.  "I'm just . . ." Pointing over his shoulder in a vague sort of way, he shrugged.  "Just next door, in a manner of speaking," he told her.  "Feel free to stop in."

"Thank you," she replied, breaking into a small smile.  "I . . . I will . . ."

He untied the horse swung himself up into the saddle, holding onto the reins as he smiled down at her.  "It was nice meeting you, Jessa O'Shea."

He clucked his tongue, gave the horse a small nudge in the ribs.  She watched him go and sighed.  "Devlin Broughton," she murmured to herself.  "Hmm . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda Gauger ——— minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Denyell ——— crow ——— lovethedogs ——— lianned88
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from Jessa**_ :  
>  _He has horses!_


	16. Solitude

Setting aside the cup of coffee that he'd brought into the office, Ashur sat down in the leather chair and tapped the desk panel to turn on the computer.  Deleting the emails that weren't important, he heaved a sigh.  An email from one of the men—a doctor—he'd met few months ago, wanting donations from the newest general of the region for a new hospital wing addition . . . One from Zelig, asking if things were going all right . . . The invoice for Kells' tuition—that one, he took the time to pay . . . One from Cain's hunter, Larry Rowland, letting him know that he would be in the area on a hunt . . .

His cell phone beeped, and Ashur grabbed it.  "Hello?"

"Hey, Ash.  Got a minute?"

"It depends on why you're calling."

Ben chuckled.  "I've got information for you.  I was going to just email it, but I didn't know how secure your network is at the moment.  That reminds me, Moe said he'd be up that way in a few weeks—some sort of electronics expo, I think.  He said to let you know he'd stop by and get you added to the secured network we use to transfer files to each other."

"So, you've finally managed to find out something about the damned duke?" Ashur demanded, ignoring everything else that Ben had said.  "Tell me."

Letting out a deep breath, Ben clucked his tongue.  "What happened to your legendary patience?" he asked.

"Not today, Ben," he countered.  "Just tell me what you know."

"All right, all right," Ben conceded.  "Carl Kingston, fourth Duke of Portsmouth—ring-tailed coati-youkai . . . owner of Kingston Pharmaceuticals.  He has a few lesser titles, but duke is the main one.  From what I can tell, he's a supporter of Ian MacDonnough but not really that active in the anti-Sesshoumaru faction, either, which means nothing over there.  They don't really go out and broadcast that kind of information.  Anyway, he originally approached the O'Sheas regarding an arranged marriage between their son and Jessa, which her father immediately declined.  Then he approached MacDonnough, ostensibly to see if the tai-youkai could force the issue—I assume that this is where Nami was asked to . . . arrange things . . ."

"Okay, and the son?"

Ben sighed.  "Hughbert Kingston, seventh Viscount of Knightsboro . . . Not much is known of the young man—he's only about thirty-five . . .  but as far as we could tell, we couldn't come up with even one picture of him.  It's assumed that he's also a ring-tailed coati-youkai, like his father, and we weren't able to find much information about his mother, either, other than someone saying at one point that he had pale hair and lighter colored eyes . . . From what they say, he doesn't attend social functions, tends to shy away from the public eye—kind of a feat, considering his father is a prominent member of the peerage . . . "

"So, basically, you're saying we don't have a thing to go on; not really," Ashur said, gritting his teeth as frustration kicked in.

"Not a lot," Ben concluded.  "My gut impression is, however, that the son didn't have much at all to do or say about the whole thing.  Seems like his father does most of the talking . . . Sounds a little familiar, if you ask me."

He made a face at the not-so-subtle allusion to their late father and his controlling ways.  Ben didn't talk about either of their parents often.  It was rather surprising that he was doing so now.  "Does this guy's father know the lengths that the MacDonnough would go to just to see that Jessa's fortune falls into their hands?" Ashur asked, entirely ignoring Ben's cryptic remarks.

"I really don't know.  I mean, there's a huge difference between asking MacDonnough to put in a good word and asking MacDonnough to have her parents killed to clear the way.  Even so, it's best to keep an eye on her, just in case . . . If MacDonnough is devious enough to have her mother killed, then he's devious enough to try to force the issue in other ways," Ben replied.  He was silent for a moment, almost thoughtful.  "Ashur . . ."

"What?" he asked curtly, somehow feeling as though he didn't want to know what his brother was considering.

"Jessa . . . She's . . . Well, she's a beautiful young woman."

"And?"

"Surely, you've noticed."

Ashur grunted, grimacing at the deadly accuracy of Ben's too-casual statement, he could only be thankful that he hadn't transferred the call to a video feed because that particular youkai was arguably one of the most observant beings on the face of the planet.  "I'd have to be dead not to have noticed that Jessa's quite beautiful," Ashur allowed dryly.

Ben chuckled.

"What's so funny?" he asked stiffly.

Ben's chuckling escalated slightly.  "Just making sure . . . I figured that, if you had opted to claim that you hadn't noticed, then you'd be trying to cover up something.  Glad to see you've got a clear conscience."

"Go to hell, Ben," Ashur grumbled.

"Oh!  Yeah, how did the meeting with the preschool go?"

"Kells starts there on July sixth," he replied, happy enough to let the current line of questioning go.

"Good, good . . . Charity wondered if you'd mind if we came and got him for a couple weeks.  The girls saw a commercial for Funtown, and she told them to ask Daddy—and you know how that goes . . ."

"It usually ends with you giving in because you're a sucker," Ashur said.

"Yes, that," Ben agreed readily enough. "Then she started in on me, saying that we might as well go for a vacation, of sorts—stop at all the local amusement parks, water parks, state reserves, points of interest, et cetera, et cetera all over New England.  Somehow, she managed to talk Sydnie and Bas into it, too, then Cain and Gin thought it'd be fun, and they told Kurt and Sami about it, _so-o-o-o_ . . ."

Ashur snorted.  "Good God, that sounds horrifying," he blurted.

"Kind of," Ben allowed.  "Anyway, we thought Kells might enjoy it, too.  After all, the more, the merrier."

Shaking his head since Ben sounded anything but excited about this little venture, Ashur almost smiled.  "If you want to take him along, I'm sure he'd love to go.  Just do me a favor, and don't let him sucker you into letting him have all kinds of sugar.  I'd rather not have to detox  him when he gets home again, if you'd be so kind."

"Okay, fine," Ben agreed.  "So, was there anything else you need?  Charity's ready to go.  We're going to a cookout tonight at Bas' . . . You know, I'm starting to hate this version of, 'family togetherness' . . ."

"Move up this way," Ashur suggested.  "We can avoid each other, and it'll be just fine."

Ben chuckled again.  "I'll have Charity call you with the details: when we'll pick up Kells and all of that.  Call if you need anything."

"Will do," he replied and hit the button to end the call with a heavy sigh.

It was a fairly common occurrence for Ben and Charity to take Kells at different times during the year, but most often during the summer for extended visits.  Ashur hadn't wanted to do anything that would interfere with Ben's ability to spend time with Kells, even if it wasn't as brothers.  That he was volunteering to do it for a couple of weeks, however, was a new and interesting development, but, given that he had a number of meetings set up in the next few weeks—meetings that would keep him pretty busy as he was introduced to some of the more important youkai in his region—he couldn't rightfully say that having Kells go off with Ben was a bad idea.  Besides, that little tyrant would enjoy it, he was certain, and he'd probably end up, bringing home a bunch of crap that he didn't really need but desperately wanted to keep . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa sat on the cream colored, overstuffed sofa with her knees drawn up against her chest, her hands locked around her ankles, staring rather pensively at the fire she'd started on the hearth of the huge stone fireplace.   She didn't know what time it was, but the darkness had settled over the land awhile ago.  Ashur had taken Kells upstairs to put to bed.  She'd heard him come back downstairs and had heard the soft click of his office door closing, too.

A quiet supper of lamb stew and new potatoes, they'd had, and it had been a quiet affair since the only one really doing any talking at all was Kells, and he didn't seem to notice the surreptitious glances that Jessa had shot Ashur, only to find him, staring at Kells or off to the side—anywhere but at her.

In fact, the only thing Ashur had said the entire time was that Ben and Charity were going to be arriving on the weekend to pick up Kells since they were going on a family vacation for a couple weeks.  Kells had spent the rest of the meal, babbling on about the places that he wanted to see, most of which were nowhere near their destinations.  That's what Ashur had said, anyway.

She sighed.  She'd thought briefly about calling Carol, until she realized that Carol was probably at work.  She was trying not to think about the two weeks while Kells would be gone.  As it was, he kept her pretty entertained during the day, and she knew that she'd miss him terribly.

And then, the consulate did call her back earlier, only to tell her that they had absolutely nothing new to divulge.  All that Mr. Halsbeck had said was that they were waiting for the MacDonnough to issue the death certificates, and that they were still in process of trying to find the wills.

Oh, and that they'd sold her horse—all the horses.  They thought it better to sell the livestock instead of keeping on a master of the stables to care for them.

She winced.

They'd sold Derry . . .

Making a face as she uncurled her legs, as she stood up and shuffled across the floor, feeling restless, feeling anxious, feeling lost . . . Trying not to dwell upon the idea that her beloved Derry was gone forever, she angrily brushed aside a single tear that had escaped despite her stubborn resolve not to allow any such thing.

It was official, wasn't it?  Every last thing—person or animal—that she loved was gone, and the void she felt, deep down inside her chest, was a horrible thing—a frightening feeling . . .

Striding across the length of the floor and back, she felt strangely trapped by the walls of the house, by the stifling silence.  It didn't really matter if there were others in the place, not when they'd so effectively closed themselves off from her.  Hating the dreadful darkness outside the windows, hating the claustrophobic stillness . . . Hating everything— _everything_ —and hating herself the most . . .

Without really thinking about it, she yanked open the majestic wood liquor cabinet that was built into the wall near the fireplace.  She grabbed the first bottle she touched, sloshing a good amount into an empty glass.  She didn't know what it was as she slugged back the first glass.  She didn't care.  As though driven by the need just to try to drown everything away, she dumped more into the glass and slammed it back, too.

She was pouring the third one when the soft voice sounded behind her.  She hadn't heard him come out of his office, and he sounded mildly amused when he spoke.  "Well, if you're pouring drinks, Jessa, make mine a double."

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to go to hell. She poured him a drink instead and whipped around to give it to him.

"Sake?" he said, arching an eyebrow as he gazed at her, his eyes so much darker in the light of the dancing fire.  "You're not messing around, are you?"

She wasn't entirely sure what he meant, but she shrugged as she drained the third glass in short order.  When she started to turn to refill it, though, she swayed a little.  He caught her arm, steadied her, reaching for her glass and easily plucking it out of her fingers.  "How much have you already had?" he asked.

She thought about that for a moment.  "Three . . . I think . . ."

He nodded slowly as he set the glass on the bar and reached around her to put the bottle away.  Considering how full his glass was?  Three was more than enough—probably too much—of that particular sake, actually . . . "Care to tell me what you're trying to forget?" he asked, taking her hand and leading her away from the wet bar, lest she should decide that another round of drinks was in order as he mentally told himself to call someone in the morning to put a lock on that cabinet.

She stumbled just a little, and she dropped onto the sofa with a whoosh of breath, half-sitting, half-lying, with her legs stretched out before her and a very petulant look on her pretty face.  "Who says I'm trying to forget anything?" she challenged.

"The way you were belting the drinks back, it's a reasonable assumption."

"Go to hell, Ashur," she slurred.

He chuckled.  There was just something ridiculously cute about the pout on her face, about the way her reddened bottom lip jutted out, the way she peered up at him through her thick fringe of eyelashes . . . "You realize that there's a good chance that you're going to feel like hell warmed over in the morning," he told her.

She snorted.  "Who cares?  You don't . . ." She narrowed her eyes on him as he sat down beside her, set his glass on the table.  "You probably think it's funny, don't you?  You probably told them to go ahead and do it!"

"Told who, what?"

She snorted again, rolling her eyes to the other side, stubbornly refusing to look at him any longer.  "Told those bastards to sell my horse," she growled.

She didn't see the frown that surfaced on his features.  "Did they?"

She nodded, a hurt expression nudging aside the pout in a mercurial shift of mood.  "Mr. Halsbeck said that the attorney—monster that he is—thought it would be easier to sell the horses than it would be to just keep paying the man who's taken care of them for years . . ."

"I'm  . . . really sorry . . ."

"Except you're not," she said, pushing herself up, nabbing his glass, and downing the rest of his sake before he could stop her.  Then she thumped the glass onto the table and flopped back once more.  "You don't care, Ashur.  You don't give a bloody damn about me."

"Of course, I do," he replied.

"You would have sold him, too," she accused, her voice cracking, breaking, slurring.

"No, I wouldn’t have," he told her.  "I know how much he meant to you."

She whimpered.  "I'll never see him again," she squeaked out. "Just like Ma and Da . . ."

He grimaced and sighed, reaching out to pull her against his shoulder.  She pushed him back, scuttled away from him.  "Jessa . . ."

"Don't touch me because it's all a lie," she railed, angrily swatting the tears off her cheeks.  "You said I'd never be alone again . . . but you lied . . ."

"Come here," he said, catching her wrist, drawing her firmly but gently over against him, locking his arms around her waist.  "You just don't realize what a girl like you can do to a man, do you?"

She pushed against him, but he held on.  "Let go, you bloody oaf!"

"Listen—"

"I don't want to listen!" she insisted, struggling against him a little more.  "I don't want anything from you!"

He sighed.  "I wasn't ignoring you," he told her.  "I just . . . I—"

"You don't want to be my lifetime regret," she said, using his words against him.  "Then let go of me!"

"Do you really want me to?" he asked quietly.

She glared at him, but the glare slowly melted away, and what was left behind was utterly devastating—a pain so raw, so unhidden, that it tore at him, dug at him, unleashing an ache somewhere deep down in a place that he'd thought had died . . . She looked as lost, as confused, as he felt, and this time, she let him pull her against his side, let him tuck her head under his chin, against his heart.

"I wasn't trying to make you feel alone," he told her quietly.  "I was trying to give you space . . . I was trying . . ." Heaving a sigh as he trailed off, he couldn't help the sense of frustration that assailed him.  He felt as though it was the wrong time, wrong place, wrong _everything_ , and yet, if that were truly the case, why in the world did she feel so right in his arms . . .?

"Ashur?"

"Hmm?"

She sniffled but huddled a little closer.  "Why are you sad?"

He blinked, frowned.  "I'm . . . I'm not . . ."

"You're lying," she said, but her accusation held very little in the way of reproach.  "I see it . . . In your eyes . . ."

Letting out a deep breath as he pressed his lips against her forehead, he frowned over her head and at nothing in particular.  "Maybe I am," he mused.  "Maybe that's what happens when your whole life turns out to be someone else's sick idea of a joke."

She digested that in silence for a moment.  Then she sighed.  "It sounds like . . . like someone broke your heart."

"Yeah," he said slowly, thoughtfully.  "Yeah, I guess . . ."

She leaned back to stare at him, her eyes clear, burning with a slow glow like the embers on the hearth, maybe a little dazed from the drink, as she reached up, brushed his bangs out of his face.  Cheeks flushed from the booze, lips cherry red.  "You don't want to tell me about it, do you?"

He didn't respond, but he did have the grace to look away, though not before he saw it there, written in the depths of her gaze.  She wanted him to tell her, didn't she?  She wanted to know . . . and one day, he might—just not tonight . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
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>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader ——— xSerenityx020
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>  ** _AO3  
> _** minthegreen
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>  ** _Forum  
> _** Denyell ——— cutechick18 ——— lianned88 ——— lovethedogs
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> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from Ashur**_ :  
>  _Totally shouldn't have let her have that sake_ …


	17. Fortuitous

Jessa groaned as she rolled out of the bed she didn't remember getting into the night before.  It felt like someone was inside her head, smacking on her skull with a tiny silver hammer, and her tongue felt like someone had stuffed her mouth full of cotton at some point.

Soft chuckles drew her attention, and she turned her head a little too fast, which triggered another low moan.

Ashur leaned in the doorway, looking entirely fresh and neat, and that only made her grind her teeth together as she stifled the desire to snort out loud.  How dare he look so entirely unflappable when she woke up, feeling like utter hell on a stick?

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm taking Kells to town shortly.  We're ordering his uniforms for preschool and picking up a few things he'll need on his trip with Ben, so, if you'd like to come along, that's fine, but . . . Something tells me that you'd rather stay here and . . . enjoy the silence."

"I don't think I like you right now," she ground out, digging in the drawers for clothes since she figured that a shower might well be the best thing at the moment.

He chuckled again, blast him.  "A word of advice for the next time?  Liquor might help in the moment, but it's usually worse in the morning," he told her.

She grunted something entirely unintelligible under her breath.

"I suggest saltines, Tylenol, and a lot of water," he told her as he pushed away from the frame.  "And, for future reference, sake is not the best drink if you're trying to avoid a hangover."

"I thought you were going into town," she grumbled.

He lifted a hand as he turned away, waving at her over his shoulder as he disappeared from view.

She felt utterly repulsive.  With a heavy sigh as she gripped her temples between her hands, she stumbled into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, deciding that a full shower would probably kill her.

Groaning as she got a good look at herself in the mirror, she sighed.  Darkened smudges under her eyes, the overall gaunt sort of appearance to her face . . . Her skin was a rather sickly shade of yellowish, and she couldn't help the overall feeling that she looked almost as bad as she felt.

She washed her face and brushed her teeth, then spent a little time, applying moisturizer to her parched skin, before shuffling out of the bathroom, throwing on the first clean thing she laid hands on in her closet: an oversized, dark blue sweat shirt and a pair of black jeans.  Calling it good, she grabbed a black scrunchy off the top of her dresser, clubbing back her hair without bothering to brush it as she shuffled out of the room and down the hallway.

Ashur had left two Tylenol next to a glass of water on the kitchen counter with a note that read that she should drink at least three glasses to help alleviate the lingering headache from her overindulgence the night before.  She heaved a sigh, but downed the pills, along with the first glass of water, grimacing as they got stuck in her throat.

She stopped as she reached for the kitchen faucet to refill the glass when the chime of the doorbell echoed through the house.  With a wince since the sound of it clanged in her head, she set the glass aside and hurried to answer the door before whoever was on the other side thought to push the doorbell for a second time.

"Eh, morning," Devlin Broughton said as she opened the door.  He stood there with a bashful little grin on his face as he jerked his head toward two horses that he'd tethered to a nearby tree.  The one, she'd seen the first time she'd met him, and the other was a sorrel roan that was slightly smaller than the gray one.  Both were beautiful animals, obviously well cared for, and Jessa couldn't help the small gasp that slipped out of her as she stared at the two creatures.  "I was going out for my morning ride, and I thought maybe, if you weren't busy, you'd like to join me?"

"Oh, I'd love to!" she blurted quickly.  "Just let me get my shoes . . ."

He nodded and chuckled, loping down the steps and striding over to the horses.

She darted upstairs, hangover forgotten in the excitement of the moment.  It didn't take long for her to slip on the ankle boots, which were the closest to riding gear that she had.  Then she ran back downstairs and out the door, touching the keypad lock to secure the house before fairly skipping down the steps and over to the horses and Devlin.  "They're _gorgeous_ ," she said, her voice quiet, almost reverent, as she slowly reached out to touch the sorrel roan.

"This one's Fletch," he said, patting the neck of the gray roan.  "You've seen him already, of course . . . That one's Flicker.  Master of the stables assures me that she's gentle as a kitten, though I confess, I've not taken her out before."

"Hello, Flicker," she said, smiling at the horse as she took her time, making friends with her.  "Aren't you beautiful?"

"How good are you?" he asked as she untied the horse and stuck her foot in the stirrup.

"I'm all right," she mused, flashing him a smile as she settled herself in the saddle.  "Thank you so much . . . I've been dying to get out on a horse, ever since I got here . . ."

He chuckled and clucked his tongue to nudge Fletch into a slow trot, heading for the road.  "I thought it'd be better to backtrack to my land and go from there," he said as she fell into step beside him.  She could feel his gaze on her, assessing her skills, she figured.  That was all right.  She'd been riding longer than she could remember.  Breathing in deep, savoring the scent of the earth, the land, she could feel the strain of the last few weeks slowly draining away.  There was just something about the feeling of freedom afforded her when she was riding, and it was a sensation that she'd missed more than she could credit.  All in all, it felt as though her entire outlook just got a little bit better . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ashur sat in the uncomfortable wood and vinyl booth, watching as Kells devoured a hamburger and fries, his gaze shifting over and over  again to the play area in the small burger joint.  "Can I play when I finish?" he asked, blinking solemnly at his father.

"As long as you eat all of that sandwich," he allowed.

Kells started to stuff a huge bite into his mouth—until he caught the raised-eyebrow-ed look from Ashur, that was.   Then he giggled and took a more normal bite.  "Daddy, why didn't Jessa come wif us?"

He almost smiled at the innocent question.  "She wasn't feeling very well this morning," he replied, figuring that it was a good enough explanation for the inquisitive child.

"Then she should go to the doctor!" Kells decided, his eyes flaring wide, the expression in them a little alarmed.  "That's what they do on the TV when someone's sick!"

"It's, uh . . . not that kind of sick," Ashur replied.  "She'll be fine in a few hours, I promise."

Kells seemed to relax just a little as he thoughtfully chewed his bite of burger.  "Does that mean she's gonna have a baby?"

Choking on the sip of coffee he'd just taken, Ashur coughed and cleared his throat as he set the cup aside.  "What?"

"On TV, when Bingbong's mommy was sick, she had a baby," he said.  "Is Jessa gonna—?"

"No," Ashur insisted a little sharper than he intended.  He cleared his throat again.  "No," he repeated, only this time, in a much more controlled tone of voice.

Kells was off and running, though.  "If Jessa has a baby, would it be my brudder?"

Rubbing his forehead, Ashur closed his eyes.  "She's not going to—"

"Can I name him?"

"No—Kells, she's not having a baby . . ."

"I wanna name him Arfur!"

Ashur heaved a sigh.  "You've been watching too much _Power Puppies_ ," he grumbled.  "Apparently, so have I if I know their names . . ."

The trill of his cell phone sounded, and he dug it out of his pocket to connect the video chat.

"Hey, Ash," Ben greeted.

"Uncle Ben!" Kells hollered, hopping up and down on his knees until Ashur turned the phone so that Kells could see the screen.  "Uncle Ben!  Jessa's gonna have a brudder for me!  I'm gonna name him Arfur!"

Yanking the phone away from the little heathen, Ashur sighed and made a face.  "No, she isn't.  She drank too much sake last night, is all, and she's feeling a little under the weather because of it," he explained before Ben could say a word.

Ben looked more amused than he ought to, given the current conversation.  "That's a hell of a leap," he remarked with a chuckle.

Ashur shook his head and shooed Kells off to go play.  "Bingbong's mom had a baby after she was sick, so that's how he got there," he replied.

"Bingbong?  Oh, that annoying as hell caterpillar on the cartoon channel?"

"That's the one," Ashur replied.  "Someone ought to step on the little bastard—and his mother."

Ben barked out a laugh at that.  "We missed out," he said.  "They didn't have cartoons back then."

Ashur snorted.  "I'm assuming that you didn't call just to talk about the caterpillar bastard?"

"Nope, not really.  I was just wondering if it's possible for us to pick up Kells a little early—like today."

"Today?  Why the rush?"

Ben shrugged, downing his coffee before answering.  "Manami is in town between assignments, and she wanted to spend a little time with him—if you don't mind, that is."

It wasn't a new thing.  Manami seemed to enjoy being around Kells.  She was rather like their sister, in a sense, and Ashur was okay with that, too.  "It's not a problem," he replied.  "Well, provided I can get Kells out of the playground . . ."

"Okay.  We should be there sometime between four and five, then."

"Drive safely."

Ending the connection, Ashur spent a moment, watching Kells as the boy ferreted his way up through the bright yellow tube to the top of the huge ball pit and catapulted himself off the edge into the sea of multicolored balls, and he let out a deep breath.

' _How_ _the hell did that child jump from, 'Jessa doesn't feel well' to, 'Jessa's going to have a baby'?_ '

His youkai-voice laughed.  ' _Probably because he's Kells, and that's what Kells do best . . ._ '

' _Yes, well, let's hope he forgets that idea sooner rather than later . . . The last thing I need is for him to go around, telling everyone that Jessa's pregnant . . ._ '

' _We could talk to Jessa, see if she's interested in working on that . . ._ '

' _You need to shut up._ '

His youkai laughed harder.

He sighed.  After having spent a sleepless night, wondering just why her mercurial moods tended to affect him so much, he'd given up around dawn since he really wasn't any closer to figuring that out than he was when he'd gone to his room.

He'd put her to bed—she'd fallen asleep on the sofa—and had sat there, staring at her with a thoughtful frown for the better part of an hour as he'd tried to make sense of her mood, tried to figure out why she'd opted to drink herself into a stupor.

' _Is it really that hard to understand, Kyouhei?  That girl . . . You know, don't you?  That horse was the very last thing she had—the last thing that tied her to her past, that gave her that little bit of security, even if he isn't here with her now.  To someone else—to us, even—maybe it's just a horse, but to her?  You're not foolish enough to believe that, are you?_ '

He frowned.  ' _It's just a horse . . ._ '

' _Yeah, a horse she's had since she was twelve.  Think about it.  She grew up an only child on a vast estate in Ireland.  Even if she had friends—and she's never actually mentioned having any of those, either, mind you—she had to have gotten a lot of comfort from that animal.  Think about what she's said, too: that she'd go riding to soothe herself, right?  And now, that is gone, too, along with her parents and pretty much everything else she's ever known.  If you were her, just how do you think you'd feel . . .?_ '

He grimaced inwardly, mostly because the things his youkai voice had said made perfect sense.  On an impulse, he pulled out his phone, scrolled through the contacts till he found the one he wanted.

It rang three times before it was answered, and Ashur drummed his claws atop the Formica table impatiently.

"Greg Halsbeck," he answered.

"Hello, Mr. Halsbeck," Ashur greeted.  "This is Ashur Philips."

"Ah, Mr. Philips.  You're calling about the O'Shea estate, right?  We haven't gotten any more information since I sent the last report yet . . . Is there something I can do for you?"

"I hope so," he said.  "Jessa tells me that you said that her horse—a gypsy cob that she called, 'Derry'—was sold?  I was wondering if there's any way for me to locate the buyer?  I'd like to buy it from them—since no one bothered to inform her of the pending sale beforehand."

"Hmm, I understand . . . Generally, they aren't allowed to divulge that sort of information, but let me see what I can dig up.  Can I give you a call back?  Say, in an hour or two?"

"Absolutely," he said, catching Kells' attention and gesturing for the boy to come.  "If I'd been informed of this prior to the sale, I would have been happy to have bought him for her myself.  That animal is more than just a family pet to her.  You understand."

"Oh, of course.  Me wife has a dog—ugly as sin—but she loves it more than she loves me, I think . . . I get it.  Let me see what I can do."

"Thank you," Ashur said.

"Talk to you soon, Mr. Philips."

The connection ended, and Ashur dropped the device into his pocket once more as Kells pushed out of the play area and dashed over to him, ducking between tables and managing to avoid the other patrons in the establishment.  "Is it time to go home, Daddy?" he asked, almost plaintively.

"Your uncle said that he'd like to pick you up early—as in, today.  Do you want to go today?"

Kells started hopping as he latched onto Ashur's knee.  "Yeah!"

"Hmm, well, you have to promise to be good, and to control yourself . . . Aunt Manami wants to see you, too, and that's why you're going early."

"Aunt Nami?  I love Aunt Nami!"

"Yes, well, Aunt Nami isn't used to hyperactive little brats who bounce around all the time, so try to keep yourself calm, Kells.  Okay?"

Kells' maniacal laughter erupted as Ashur gathered together the remnants of his meal to throw away.  The boy grabbed the cheap plastic toy that came with his food, hopping impatiently as he waited for Ashur to throw away the trash.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa sat beside the pond, smiling softly to herself as the horses nickered and seemed to be talking to each other nearby where they were tethered to a low-hanging, but stout tree branch.

"So, you're telling me that you're _the_ Lady Jessamyn O'Shea—the one that all the _ton_ talks about constantly . . . That's you?"

Wrinkling her nose, she rolled her eyes and tossed a flower that she'd been admiring at his head. "They do not!" she scoffed.

"On the contrary, they do," Devlin insisted, settling back against a rotting tree trunk near the edge of the water.  "Oh, have you _seen_ that gel?  Gorgeous—simply _gor-r-rgeous_ , m'lambs!"

Pressing her lips together at his high-pitched impersonation, she couldn't restrain the little giggle that slipped from her.  "Oh, my God!  That sounded just like Countess Orland!"

He touched his nose with his index finger then pointed at her.  "Not bad, right?"

"You spend time with that old hag?"

"No, actually . . ." He chuckled, showing off his deep dimples to a great advantage as he turned his face, stared out over the water.  Then he rolled his eyes and shot her a sidelong glance.  "Mum and I were eating at the London Astoria last fall, and she was there with her gaggle of ladies, comparing the season's debutantes.  You, apparently, were the one that they'd lay their bets on to have the greatest amount of suitors—if they were the betting sorts, that was.  Did you?"

"I don't know.  Ma died soon after my initial debut, so . . ."

His smirk faded, and he sighed.  "Right sorry I am about that," he muttered.  "I've never met your parents, but . . . That can't have been easy . . ."

She shook her head, forced a wan smile.  "They say things happen for a reason, right?  I'm just . . . just waiting to find out why."

He considered that, a thoughtful scowl on his face, eyebrows drawn together as he reached out, slowly plucked a sprig of small white flowers and handed it to her.  "For what it's worth, I'm glad to have met you," he said, his frown melting away as a lopsided little grin surfaced in its place.

She accepted the offering and smiled back at him.  "What about you?  Awfully far away from home, aren't you?  Here on some kind of business?"

He grimaced.  "No . . . It's more of a . . . vacation, I guess you could say.  Mum and I . . ."

"Your mother's here?  What about your father?"

He shrugged.  "Well, to be entirely honest, my father and I are having a difference of opinion at the moment, and my mum . . . She's not too pleased with him, either."

She narrowed her gaze on him.  Something about the slight tightness around his eyes . . . "Somehow, I feel like your, 'difference of opinions' is a little bigger than you're making it out to be."

He looked surprised for a second, only to sigh and grimace.  "Am I that transparent?"

"Kind of."

"Suffice it to say that we disagreed on the direction in which I wanted to go in my life," he admitted.  "He's . . . very old fashioned, and very set in his ways, so when he gets certain ideas in his head, he simply cannot let go of them, never mind that I'm thirty-five years old, so, one would think that I'd be able to make my own decisions."  Suddenly, he chuckled.  "Bloody hell, I'm starting to sound like a child, aren't I?"

"I don't think so," she allowed, hooking her hands around her ankles, locking her fingers together.  "I think that you sound like someone who deserves to live whatever life you want.  I mean, your father has gotten to go his own way, hasn't he?  You should be left do to what you will, too."

His chuckle was warm, friendly.  "So, you're telling me that I should just reach out and grab life by the bollocks?  Is that what you do?"

"No," she admitted, scrunching up her shoulders in an almost apologetic sort of way.  "Not . . . Not really . . ."

He turned to face her once more, eyebrows lifting in surprise.  "You don't?  Huh . . ."

"What?"

He smiled.  "You strike me as the kind of girl who would."

"I do?"

He nodded slowly, his smile taking on a teasing sort of lilt.  "Maybe it's the hair," he quipped.

She laughed as he got to his feet, offering her a hand up that she took.

"As much fun as I've had with you, Irish, I promised Mum I'd have tea with her," he said as he led the way back to the horses again.

"Thanks for bringing me along," she said, swinging her leg over the horse and settling into the saddle again.

"Any time," he replied, clicking at Fletch to get him moving.  "I mean, you know where I live now.  I meant it when I said that you're welcome to stop in whenever you want.  I'll leave word with the stable master that you're to be allowed to take Flicker out any time you wish."

"That's very kind of you," she said.  "I wouldn't want to be a bother . . ."

"You're not," he assured her as they headed along the path.  "Besides, I had a good time today, thank you very much."

She laughed again as she shot him a glance.  Even if she didn't know him very well, she had to thank him, didn't she.  He'd managed to pull her out of her funk, even if it was just for one day, and that had to account for something.  It was nice to be around someone that she didn't feel was watching her every movement, analyzing everything she said or did, and even though Ashur might well have good intentions, just being around someone who she didn't feel that she had to put up some strange front with was a very welcome change . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Enjoy the weekend ..._
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>  _** cutechick18 ——— lovethedogs
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  … _Babies …?_


	18. Rain

"All right. I'll see you on Thursday."

Heaving a sigh as he ended the phone call and dropped the device onto the sofa beside him, Ashur leaned forward, elbows on knees, letting his face drop into his open palms.  "Damn," he muttered, wondering if he needed to hire a secretary.  Ben had warned him that people would want to meet with the new Canadian general.  He hadn't expected all the attention, though.  This guy—Thurston Margreave—was a well-known patron of the arts in Quebec.  He owned the largest theater in the region and was probably looking to garner more support for it, which was fine, he supposed.  Just add another person to the growing list of weird and random visitors . . .

Kells dashed into the room, his little Sonny Sunshine backpack slung over his shoulders.  "I packed my stuffs, Daddy!" he exclaimed happily, skidding to a stop next to the sofa, planting his hands on the arm as he bounced up and down in his excitement.

Letting his hands drop away from his face, Ashur blinked as he met Kells' rapt expression.  "You packed," he said, sounding more than a little dubious.  Rolling his eyes, he held out a hand, wiggling his finger to hurry the boy along as Kells shrugged off the backpack and handed it over.

Toys and games and his handheld kid tablet . . . Not one shred of clothing, and no tooth or hairbrush, either . . . "Kells, you stink at packing," Ashur replied, handing the bag back to the boy as he pushed himself to his feet and headed out of the room.  "You don't have to go if you don't want to," he said as Kells skipped along beside him.  "You can stay here with Daddy, if you want."

Kells stopped suddenly, tilting his head to the side as he pondered Ashur's statement.  "You don't wan' me to go, Daddy?  You wan' me to stay home?"

Ashur forced a smile as he tousled the boy's hair.  "If you want to go, that's fine.  They'll have a lot of fun, you know.  I'm just saying that if you'd rather stay here with me, then that's okay, too.  Whatever you want to do, Kells."

His face scrunched up into a comical show of concentration, and he shrugged.  "I wanna go," he finally said, "but I wanna stay wif Daddy, too . . ." He smiled, throwing his little arms around Ashur's leg, almost making him stumble.  "I love Daddy!"

A very rare, very true smile quirked the corners of Ashur's lips as he scooped the boy up and continued up the stairs.  "I love you, too, Kells," he replied.

Kells ferreted his head under Ashur's chin, snuggling against him as he heaved a sigh.  "I need lots of cuddles for when I'm gone," he said.

"All right," Ashur agreed, stepping into Kells' room.  He had to admit, he loved these kinds of moments: quiet moments when the boy was content, just to be held, to be cuddled.  They didn't happen nearly as often these days as they used to, and he missed it—a lot.

"Okay," Kells finally said after a few minutes of cuddling.  "My cuddles is full 'gain!"

Ashur chuckled and kissed his forehead before setting him back on his feet.

It didn't take long for Ashur to fill a satchel with a good number of clothing changes along with the boy's swim suit, hair brush, a few towels, toothbrush, and bubble gum flavored toothpaste—the one with the dinosaurs on the tube.  After he considered it a moment, he also tossed in a couple sweat shirts and jeans, socks and underpants, and a couple nicer shirts in case they went somewhere and needed slightly more formal attire.  "Okay," he said, zipping up the bag.  He still needed shoes, but Ashur would grab those downstairs since they were kept in the closet by the front door.  "I think that's good enough."

"Oh . . . Packing?  I thought that they were picking him up this weekend," Jessa said as she stopped in the doorway.  Ashur blinked and shot her a second glance.  Cheeks flushed, eyes bright, she looked almost . . . happy . . .?

"Aunt Nami wants to see me!" Kells hollered, tossing his arms around Jessa's leg in his exuberance.

"Family friend," he supplied, crossing his arms over his chest as he slowly regarded her.  "So, they're coming to get him a little early."

"I see," she replied, smiling down at the boy.  "I'll bet you'll have so much fun!" she insisted.  "That's really exciting!"

"And just where were you?" Ashur interrupted, glancing at Kells as the boy darted over and hefted the satchel off the bed, struggling with it since it was almost as big as he was, as he shuffled over to the door.  Jessa stepped to the side, allowing Kells to pass, before she turned her attention back to Ashur once more.  "We got back, and you were gone—no note, no nothing."

She grimaced, then smiled at him, too, which was nearly enough to disarm him.  Something about the way her eyes lit up . . . "I'm sorry.  You're right; I should have left a note.  I will next time; I promise.  Our neighbor—Mr. Broughton—stopped by, offered to let me ride one of his horses . . ." She sighed happily—dreamily.  "It was . . . It was so nice . . ."

"Should you be out, running around with some random man you just met?"

She seemed genuinely surprised by his question.  "You're kind of a random man I just recently met," she reminded him.

He rolled his eyes.  "Your amusement is sorely misplaced, Jessa.  Anyone ever tell you that you're far too trusting of people?"

She snorted.  "I'm not," she insisted, flicking a hand in blatant dismissal.  "But the horses like him, and they tend to be better judges of character than you or I are in general."

He raised his eyebrows at her bald statement.  "So, you're trusting the reactions of . . . horses . . .?"

"Animals can sense if someone has bad intentions or not, so yes," she argued.  Then she sighed.  "I'm going to go start dinner.  You can grouch at me later, if you want."

"Jessa—"

The chime of the doorbell cut him off, and he uttered a terse grunt as he strode out of the room and followed her down the stairs.  This discussion wasn't over, not by a long shot, as far as he was concerned.  A girl that looked like her, without sparing a second thought, up and running off with some guy, just because he had a couple of horses?  Heaving a sigh as he reached for the doorknob, he tried to tamp down the irritation that wouldn't do a thing for him at the moment.  He'd talk to her later, absolutely, because he had to make sure she understood that she could easily be in danger from any number of things if she weren't careful.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Is there anything I can help with?"

Jessa glanced up from the butter and olive oil, heating in the skillet, as Manami breezed into the kitchen with a brilliant smile on her movie-star-gorgeous face.  She wasn't entirely sure what she'd expected, but it certainly wasn't the radiant swan-youkai who stepped inside the foyer with a stunning smile and a huge hug for Kells and Ashur, both.  Then she went on to stand just a little too close to Ashur as they talked in hushed tones.  More than once, he'd had to lean in to hear what she was saying to him.

As they stood in the living room, drinking wine and generally playing a game of catching-up, Manami had touched Ashur's arm multiple times, letting her fingertips rest on his forearm, on his bicep, laughing a little too happily at whatever he was talking about, as he stared at her with a more indulgent, more contented, expression than Jessa had ever actually seen on his face before.

She'd watched as the two of them whispered to each other, as he listened intently to whatever she was telling him, while Ben and Charity had played with the children and had joined in the conversation here and there.

Jessa hadn't known what to make of it, the strange and almost mercurial change in Ashur's behavior.  He didn't tend to act that way around just Ben and Charity, either, and that was alarming enough, in her opinion.

' _They act like . . . like lovers or something . . ._ '

Gritting her teeth at her youkai-voice, Jessa crossed her arms over her chest and turned on her heel, stomping off to the kitchen, not that Ashur noticed.  Why would he?  She snorted.

Her gut instinct was to rip the woman's platinum blonde hair out of her head, though she was a little shocked and not entirely sure why she felt that way at all—and she didn't really want to delve into it too deeply, either.

"Oh, I've got it," Jessa insisted with as much of a tight smile as she could muster.

Manami laughed, either not noticing or not bothering to comment on the expression, as she stepped around Jessa and reached for the onion on the cutting board.  "Oh, nonsense!  I love cooking!"

"Okay," Jessa agreed slowly.  They were staying for dinner, but Ben had said that they needed to get back tonight—something about Manami and Charity's plans to take Kells and the girls for a day of the zoo followed by toy shopping or something like that . . . "Are you going on vacation with them?" she asked, in lieu of something better to say.

"I'm not," she admitted with a sigh as she made quick work of the onion.  "I wish I were, but not this time, unfortunately."

Jessa frowned thoughtfully.  "Do you often go on vacations with them?"

Manami scraped the onions together with a spatula and dropped them carefully into the sizzling oil.  "Whenever I can," she admitted.

She didn't know what to make of that, so she said nothing, focusing on her task at hand instead.

Manami hummed quietly to herself for a few minutes, somehow giving Jessa a sense of ease, of relaxed comfort that she tried to ignore, but when the swan spoke again, she did so carefully, as though she were measuring her words.  "Ashur . . . He's different."

"What do you mean?"

Manami shook her head, gathered up the cutting board to wash it off in the sink.  "He's more . . . Well, I guess you could say, he's a little more like he used to be, back before . . ." Trailing off, she sighed, deliberately taking her time as she washed the board.  "Before everything . . ."

"Before everything . . .?" she repeated when Manami fell silent.

Manami sighed and shot her an apologetic little smile.  "I'm sorry, Jessa.  It's not my place to tell it.  I really can only say that he's . . . He's been through a lot . . ." Suddenly, she laughed.  "Then again, haven't we all in our own ways . . .?  I mean, I daresay that you've been through quite a bit, too, of late, haven't you?  Your parents . . . I'm so very, very sorry."

"I'm . . . I'm fine," Jessa lied, hating the twinge of sadness that shot through her—hating that the woman actually sounded genuinely sad, genuinely concerned, and sorry . . . It left her feeling vulnerable, weaker than she wanted to be, especially in the face of this particular woman.  She wasn't sure why she instantly viewed Manami as a threat on some level, but . . .

Manami didn't seem to pick up on it, though.  "Kells loves you, too," she went on, completely oblivious to Jessa's inner thoughts.  "That boy . . ." She laughed.  "We all think he's special, of course, but Ashur . . . Ashur adores him . . ."

Jessa cleared her throat.  "You . . . You seem like you're . . . close . . . to Ashur . . ." she said, hoping that she didn't sound as interested in her answer as she suspected that she did.

"Close?  I suppose . . . I would guess that would depend upon your definition of it," Manami allowed, digging plates out of the cupboard as Jessa checked the boiling pasta.  "I guess I'm probably about as close to Ashur as he'll ever let anyone be."  She paused, gaze clouding over as a calculating sort of expression surfaced, and suddenly, she laughed softly.

"Is something funny?" Jessa demanded, unable to restrain the clipped tone in her voice.

"I'm sorry," Manami said, waving a hand despite the laughter that still escaped her.  "I apologize."  Even so, she giggled a little longer before finally winding down to a very natural, very friendly smile.  "I feel like you're good for him, Jessa.  Maybe it's simply that you're so young . . ."

"I don't think . . . He doesn't feel that way," Jessa replied stiffly.

Manami laughed again.   "Oh, child!  If he doesn't, it wouldn't take much from you to change his mind!  Well, if you wanted to, that is . . ."

Snapping her mouth closed on the retort that had been forming, Jessa pulled the pot off the stove and took her time, draining it in the sink.  She really wasn't sure, what to make of that woman—not in the least . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Staring out at the blackened night outside the French doors that he'd left open, savoring the feel of the crisp evening air, smelling the scent of the impending rain as he searched the skies for stars that were hidden behind the gloom of the storm clouds that gathered in the dark, Ashur slowly sipped the snifter of brandy in his hand as he leaned in the doorway, one hand in his pocket, as he tried not to think about just how empty the house felt with Kells gone for the next nearly-three-weeks.  They'd left shortly after dinner, even though Ashur had been more than willing to lodge them for the night.  Ben had to get back, though.  Something about last minute things to finish up before their vacation started.

It wasn't the first time that Ben and Charity had taken Kells, though normally it was only for a few days, maybe a week, and it wouldn't be the last time, either, he was sure.  After all, Ashur had never wanted to keep Kells away from his uncle and, in fact, did everything he could to ensure that they got to spend as much time together as possible.  He owed both of them that, even if Kells didn't know and didn't understand why that was.

He sighed.  If he had his druthers, the boy would never know, would never, ever be told the truth of his origins, of how he came to be adopted . . .

 _The blood on the floor, on the walls . . . The stench of it, filling his nose, making him feel dizzy, sickened . . . The blood, staining his hands as he held the writhing newborn . . . It still lingered there, in the depths of his nightmares, and, though those nightmares had lessened over time, the ones he did have still held the power to keep him awake for nights on end_ . . .

That was a truth that Kells never needed to know, as far as he was concerned.  There was absolutely nothing good that could possibly come from telling him the truth, and maybe he was being foolish or selfish in hoping that it never became an issue . . .

"What did you send?  Why does that worry me?" Jessa said as she shuffled into the room.  He glanced over his shoulder, only to spot her near the archway, holding her phone to her ear.  She sighed.  "All right, Carol . . . I will . . . Okay, bye."

Ending the connection, she stopped abruptly when she noticed Ashur near the opened French doors.  "Oh, sorry.  I didn't know you were in here," she muttered, turning on her heel to leave.

"Jessa," he called after her, stopping her before she could escape.  He saw the way her back stiffened, the way her youki drew in close.  She was bracing herself, wasn't she?  But for what . . .?

She sighed, her shoulders slumping just a little under the draping fabric of the light sweater she wore.  "I'm tired, Ashur.  I . . . I'm going to bed."

He considered that, then discarded it.  She'd been acting strangely all evening—quiet, almost brooding . . . "All right," he agreed, "but before that, tell me why you were so quiet during dinner?  I mean, you were so happy after your ride earlier, so . . . did something happen?"

"No, nothing at all," she replied.

Frowning at the tightness in her answer, he pivoted on his heel, leaning back against the frame as he slowly sipped the brandy.  "Tell me why I don't believe that."

She stopped, turned, scowled at him for a minute, eyes darkening as she seemed to be considering . . . something . . . "I don't know," she said, quietly, evenly, as she took her time, moving across the floor, only to take the glass out of his hand and toss back the rest of the drink.  "Is Manami your lover?"

Eyebrows raising in surprise, Ashur blinked.  "My what?"

His question irritated her, he could see it in her gaze.  The storm clouds were gathering there in her eyes—dark, deep, just waiting for that one little crack, that one tiny fissure, before it broke wide open.  "Your.  Lover," she stated once more, slamming the snifter onto the nearby table.  "I'm not stupid, Ashur," she bit out, then quickly shook her head, uttering a terse laugh that held only a bitterness she really shouldn't have known, not at her age.  "Or maybe I am . . ."

"There's nothing—"

"You know what?  Save it," she blurted, cutting him off as her eyes narrowed dangerously.  "I don't care."

She turned to leave.  He caught her wrist, tugged her back, gently but firmly.  "I feel as though you're jumping to some odd conclusions in there," he said, tapping her forehead with his fingertips, his tone a little condescending, even though he hadn't meant for it to be.

"Go to hell," she shot back, yanking on her wrist, but unable to break his hold.

"Not until you tell me, just what's spinning around in that head of yours," he growled, his reaction being fed by her own.

"Just leave me alone!"

"Jessa—"

"Why the hell did you kiss me?" she hissed, yanking on her arm again.  "Why would you do that when you have _her?_   I am not your toy, damn it!"

"When I have—?  What the hell are you talking about?" he growled.

She jerked away, stumbled back a couple steps.  "Leave me alone!" she screamed again.

He started to grab her, but his cuff shot up in flames as she bolted past him, out into the night. With a muffled curse, he ripped the sleeve off before it managed to burn him, dropping it on the stone terrace as he took off after her.  The first flash of lightning, the first crack of thunder announced the storm as the rain started to fall.  He couldn't rightfully see much of anything between the strobes of lightning and the rain, hitting his face.

"Jessa!" he bellowed, his voice swallowed by another crack of thunder, as the skies opened up, as the rain fell in great sheets.  " _Jessa!_ "

He slipped on the soaked ground, but caught himself with his fingertips and without breaking his stride.  Following only his intuition and the vague scent of her that was so distorted by the wind, by the rain, that he wasn't even sure if he was headed in the right direction, he muttered a curse under his breath.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the world around him, and he caught sight of her, only for a moment: dead ahead, moving as fast as she possibly could.  Uttering a terse growl, he sped up, closing the distance, and he launched himself at her, grabbing her in his arms, bearing her to the ground with a squelch of earth and mud, as she struggled against him, tried to fight him off, beating her fists against his shoulders, trying to use her body to toss him off.

Smashing his knee down between her legs to still her, he leaned away, far enough to glower at her in the stingy light. "Stop it," he rumbled, his scowl darkening fast.  It should have been enough to silence her.  It wasn't, and she took a swipe at his face with her claws.  With a frustrated growl, he caught her wrists in one hand and slammed them down in the wet and slippery grass above her head.  " _Stop.  It_ ," he hissed again.  "What the hell has gotten into you?" he demanded.

Uttering a frustrated growl of her own, she bucked her hips, trying to unseat him.  If anything, it simply served as a reminder of exactly how precarious their positions really were, and he sighed.  "Get off me!  You're squashing me!"

"I am not," he argued.  "Now, answer me . . . Why the hell are you acting insane?"

"No!  We'll see how much she likes you when your face isn't nearly as pretty anymore!" she yelled, yanking on her hands, trying to break free to carry out her threat of maiming him.

"Knock it off, or I swear on all that's holy, I'll turn you over my knee and beat some sense into your ass!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

"Don't test me, woman!"

"Ugh!  Get off me, you bloody Philistine!" she hollered, writhing beneath him as she tried yet again to shove him off.

"Jessa, what the—?"

"Why don't you go ask your swan, you bastard?"

"My . . .?  What?" he blurted, stilling long enough to give her a very chagrined, yet puzzled, glower.

"Your swan," she bit out.  "She was all over you, wasn't she?  As close to you as anyone could be—those were her words, damn you!  Now get off me!"

"My swa—?  Manami?  That's what you're mad about?  _Manami?_ "

She started to rage at him once more, but he cut her off as he broke out in laughter—great gales of laughter—laughter like she'd never heard from him before.  Some part of her had to acknowledge that the sound of it would be rather pleasant under regular circumstances.  At the moment, however, the sound of his amusement was almost enough to make her want to rip his heart out of his chest and stomp on it for fun . . .

"Get off me!"

Winding down to a few light chuckles, he slowly shook his head.  "Manami's just a family friend," he told her, though he still sounded entirely too amused to credit.  He sighed.  "I'll let you up if you're done trying to flay me."

"Still considering it, thank you very much," she bit out, turning her head and averting her eyes as a sudden bout of sheepishness slammed down on her.  Had she jumped to conclusions that fast?  And if she had . . . why had it mattered to her . . .?

He chuckled at her petulant response, and he pushed himself off of her and to his feet, leaning down to catch her hands, to help her up.  They were both completely soaked, through and through, and the rain still showed no sign of letting up.  "Tell me why you thought that there was something between Manami and me?" he prompted, sounding much calmer than he ought to, especially since she wasn't entirely finished being angry with him.  "I mean, we did get drunk one night, and I kissed her, but it was weird, like kissing your sister or something like that, and nothing else ever happened.  Hell, that was . . . a couple years ago . . ."

She shot him a withering glower.  "Well, then, I guess that proves that," she muttered, stomping away from him.

"Proves what?" he yelled, hurrying to catch up with her.  "What are you babbling about now?"

"I don't babble, you odious debaucher!"

Heaving a sigh, he shook his head.  "Just tell me what the hell you're accusing me of," he demanded.

She spun on her heel, her feet squelching in the mud since she hadn't bothered to put on shoes. Jamming her finger within an inch of his nose, she glowered up at him, her eyes glowing like coals in the darkness.  "I'm not accusing you of anything!  I'm _telling_ you that the next time you have a case of itchy lips, go find someone else to slobber all over because I'm done with you, Ashur Philips!  You and your fickle lips can go straight to hell!"

And then, she turned and strode away, back straight and proud, arms swinging to and fro with every step, her movements punctuated by the rolling thunder, by the strobes of lightning that tore the fabric of the skies, leaving a shocked and surprised Ashur in her wake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** sutlesarcasm ——— Silent Reader ——— Goldeninugoddess ——— xSerenityx020 ——— Quinn ——— smpnst
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** minthegreen ——— Amanda+Gauger
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** lianned88 ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _… Itchy lips …?_


	19. Jealousy

Knocking on the doorframe, Ashur cleared his throat when Jessa stubbornly refused to even glance at him.  He sighed, mostly because she'd refused to as much as speak to him since the night before—even if he still wasn't entirely sure why.  "Jessa, here's your mail," he said, setting the small yellow mailer on her nightstand.

She kept on reading her book, pretending that she didn't hear him, and he stifled a snort.

Okay, he got that she was somehow irritated about Manami, even if he wasn't entirely sure why.  It made no sense, actually.  Striding down the hallway and down the stairs, he checked his watch, but made a face as his cell phone rang.

' _Halsbeck_ ', the caller ID said.  Ashur connected the call as he stepped into his office and closed the door.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Mr. Philips.  This is Greg Halsbeck from the Irish Consulate's office.  I'm sorry I didn't get back to you yesterday.  Had a bit of difficulty in getting a hold of the horse's buyer."

"It's fine," he said, brushing aside the irritation that the man hadn't called back when he said he would.  At least he had a reason, he figured.  "Let me get a pen and paper . . ."

"Well, you won't need to," Halsbeck said.  "The buyer—Sam Guthrie, said that he took the horse out riding the day after he got him, and the horse got spooked by a snake, he thinks.  Anyway, the horse threw him, and took off, and when Mr. Guthrie managed to catch up with him, he was tangled five ways from Sunday in a barbed wire fence.  Unfortunately, between the lacerations from the fencing—some of them were quite deep, I'm told—he also suffered a broken leg and a broken rib, so they had no choice but to put him down."

"What?" Ashur growled with a wince.  "You're kidding."

"I wish I were.  I'm sorry I don't have better news."

Ashur sighed.  "Thank you for your trouble."

"Yes, well . . . I'm supposed to hear from Mr. Dunbyrne sometime in the next week," he said.  "Should I call you or would you rather that I call Lady O'Shea with the update?"

"You'd better call me," Ashur said.  "She's still not really ready to handle some of the details, but I was wondering . . . I'd like to see a copy of the official accident report," he said.  "Is that possible?"

Halsbeck sighed.  "I'll see what I can do . . . Is there a reason you want to see it?"

"I'd just like to verify a few things for Jessa.  You understand."

"I'll get that out to you as fast as I can," he promised.

"Okay, thank you."

"Let me know if there's anything else I can do for you."

"Absolutely," he said.  "Thank you."

The connection ended, and Ashur dropped the phone onto his desk as he let his face fall into his hands.  Her horse, dead . . .? Grimacing, he had to wonder just how he was supposed to tell her that—that, on top of everything else . . . She'd said it herself, hadn't she?  That horse was the last connection she had—the very last thing.

 _The sadness in her very aura, the absolute misery that she hadn't been able to hide . . . It was all there, all so raw, and he . . . "I'll never see him again . . . Just like Ma and Da_ . . ."

How bad was it for her, really?  He'd gotten glimpses, of course, but she tried to hide it all; he'd seen it before.  No parents, no siblings, no aunts or uncles or cousins . . . and now, no horse, and maybe to some, that horse was just a creature, but to her . . . Well, he knew better.  She had nothing left, did she?  A title?  An estate?  A vast amount of wealth?  And yet, what did that really account for when the people she cherished were gone?

It made no sense—no more than his unbidden desire to help her, to comfort her, even if there wasn't anything in it for him.  He didn't know if it was simply because he understood her on some level.  Maybe she hadn't been through the same things he had, and maybe the circumstances weren't the same.  True enough, he'd come out of it all with his older brother and Kells, so maybe, in that, he was a little more fortunate than she was . . . Even so . . .

Even so, her loss was so much worse, wasn't it?  Doting parents who loved her, who cherished her.  If he were honest—brutally honest—he'd have to admit that maybe he'd gained more than he'd lost when his parents died, but to do so . . . Just what kind of monster was he, anyway?

' _Cut that out, Kyouhei . . . You're no more a monster than she is, you know.  Your parents—they were the monsters, if there were any—and you . . . All you did was to pick up the pieces, and you put them back together again, maybe in a different way than they were originally intended, but they fit together, just the same . . . And now, you want to help Jessa to do that, too, don't you?_ '

He snorted inwardly.  ' _Except that she's ten kinds of pissed off at me, and I don't know why._ '

' _Don't you?  Are you sure?  Because if you stopped and thought about it, it might make more sense to you._ '

' _More sense to—? How?  All she did was get all pissed off over Manami for no reason, and_ —'

' _And?  Are you sure it was for, 'no reason'?_ '

Ashur snorted and started to argue, but the chime of the doorbell cut him off, and, with a loud and frustrated growl, he stood up and pushed out of his office.

The man on the porch smiled broadly at him, shoving a very stout, calloused hand out to shake.  "Thurston Margreave," he said, introducing himself as Ashur shook his hand.  "You must be Ashur Philips . . . Any relation to Ben?"

"He's my brother," Ashur admitted, stepping back to allow the man to enter.

Thurston laughed jovially.  The squat little man—a chinchilla-youkai—followed Ashur into the living room and waved a hand in dismissal when Ashur gestured at the wet bar.  "Oh, no, thanks," he said, settling on the sofa.  "I don't want to take up too much of your time.  I just wanted to welcome you to Canada."  Digging into the breast pocket of his well worn sports jacket, he pulled out a white envelope and handed it over.  "It's not much, but the new season's starting.  They're doing a twelve week run of _Ghosts of Olde_ at Margreave Hall, and my wife and I . . . Well, we'd love to see you there.  Those are good for any time except for opening night, but if you'd rather have opening night tickets, I can arrange that, too."

"Uh, thank you," Ashur replied, setting the tickets on the coffee table as he sat down in a nearby chair.

"I saw your stables," Thurston went on.  "I'd love to see your stock.  My wife is obsessed with horses, and I do what I can to indulge her.  I've become a pretty good breeder, if I do say so myself."

Shaking his head, Ashur settled back in the chair.  "I don't have any yet," he admitted.  "I actually don't know a thing about them, really, but I've got a guest who does.  I was considering finding one for her."

"Oh!  If you're interested, feel free to stop by sometime.  We have mostly Arabians, and one of my prized mares just foaled a few months ago, but we've got one of hers that's close to a year and a half that we just finished breaking.  Gorgeous creature, that one . . . We've been looking for the right person to sell him to . . . Is your guest someone with a background in horses?"

"She's a very accomplished rider," he said.  "I'll bring her by sometime to see the horse, if that's all right."

Thurston dug a card out of his wallet and handed it over.  "Absolutely!  Just give me a call, and we'll arrange something!"

"Thank you," Ashur replied, stashing the card in his pocket.  "I certainly will . . ."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa scowled in concentration as she stared hard at the tiki torches from where she stood on her balcony.  Narrowing her eyes as she gathered her energy to one point in the center of her hand, she drew a deep breath and let it go, let it fly, as it exploded from her, igniting the torches in one mighty gust of fire, just as she'd seen her father do before.

She smiled vaguely as she stared at the dancing flames.  Then she waved a hand, satisfied even more when they all sputtered out together.

She was getting better at it, she had to admit.  ' _At least, there's that . . ._ '

' _Oh, don't be that way, Jessa.  It's your own fault, you know.  Jealousy's such an ugly emotion_.'

' _Jeal—I'm not_ jealous!' she blurted.  ' _I'm so . . . the opposite of jealous . . .!  I'm  . . . I'm just_ not!'

' _It's okay,_ ' her youkai-voice went on, ignoring her little outburst.  ' _It happens to the best of us, or so I've been told.  It's really not that big a deal, if  you stop and think about it.  I mean, all you really have to do is just make sure that Ashur doesn't have  a reason to think about Manami instead of you, right?_ '

Snorting indelicately since she wasn't about to dignify that with a response, Jessa turned around and flounced back into her room off the balcony.

' _Fine, if you want to ignore me, but you should at least apologize for trying to set Ashur on fire last night._ '

' _As if!  He's lucky I didn't do worse than just send a few sparks at him!_ '

' _A few sparks?  Bitch, please!  You damn near burned him to a crisp, and if he were human?  He would have been hottie flambé, for sure!_ '

She heaved a frustrated sigh, gaze sweeping over the room, only to stop when she spotted the mailer on the nightstand.  She'd forgotten that Ashur had brought it up to her room.  Striding over, she picked it up, turned it over in her hands.  Carol said last night on the phone that she'd sent Jessa a little something.  She hadn't said what it was, just that Jessa better use it.  Even so, she couldn’t help but feel just a little nervous about the contents of the package.

Drawing a deep breath, she tore it open, wincing as she held it open, as she looked inside.  "Oh, my God," she muttered, slapping the mailer back down on the nightstand as her cheeks blossomed in color.

Her phone rang, right on cue, and Jessa snatched it up and connected the call.  "Carol!" she hissed, pressing her hand against her forehead.

Carol laughed.  "It said online that the package was delivered," she said.  "So, did you get it?"

Jessa snorted.  "I'm going to kill you," she grumbled, pacing across the floor.  "You sent me _condoms!_ "  The last word came out as a hiss of breath.

"You can thank me later," she replied happily.  "Oh, better yet?  Make some videos while you're using those.  A man that looks like that just has to be a damn good fuck."

She uttered a sound caught somewhere between a moan and a groan.  "I don't know why I'm friends with you," she complained.

Carol laughed again.  "Because you love me, sweetie . . . Now, get out there and use those condoms!"

She sighed as the call ended, dropping the phone onto the bed as she plopped down beside it, as she buried her face in her hands.

' _Well, as misguided as she might be, Carol has a point.  I mean, at least now he wouldn't have to worry about him being your, 'lifetime regret', now would we?_ '

Groaning into her hands at the sarcasm in her youkai-voice's words, Jessa shifted her hands, rubbed furiously at her temples as a headache the likes of which she'd never experienced before surged through her.

' _I_ _don't want to do that with him . . . I don't even think I like him . . . Why should I, I'd like to know?  He's done nothing but play with me and lead me on from the get-go, hasn't he?  And all the while, he's got . . . got_ her _. . . which means that I . . . I don't matter_ . . .'

' _Is that really what you think?_ '

She stubbornly refused to answer that.

' _But you know what you felt when you kissed him, Jessa_.'

' _What_ _I felt_ . . .' Face screwing up in a belligerent scowl, she stood up and strode toward the door, not really thinking in terms of a destination.  She just wanted—needed—to get out of the house.  ' _No_ , _actually, I don't know what I felt_.'

' _Don't_ _you?  That was special, it was tremendous—it was magical_.'

Snorting indelicately as she pushed out of the sliding kitchen doors onto the terrace, she broke into a sprint, running thoughtlessly, blindly, away from the house.

' _I_ _don't know a damn thing,' she argued.  'How would I when he's the only man I've ever . . . ever kissed before?_ '

' _And you think that matters?  You wanted to kiss him—you still want to kiss him.  You_ —'

' _For_ _all I know, it doesn't matter_ ,' she insisted.  ' _The_ _who of it or the why of it . . . It's all the same.  Those feelings would be entirely the same, no matter who is doing the kissing_.'

' _You're_ _not serious_ ,' her youkai shot back, then suddenly sighed.  ' _Oh_ , _wait, you are_ . . .' The voice sighed.  ' _All_ _right, Miss Bitch.  If you really think so, but don't say I didn't warn you when you get yourself in over your head.  Foolish girl, anyway_ . . .'

Rolling her eyes as she blinked, as she dropped to a walk along the trail that led to the pond, Jessa sighed.  Biting her lip, she couldn't help but wonder, now that it had occurred to her.  It really was entirely one-sided to simply think that kissing Ashur was all that different from kissing, in general.  True, she had to admit, however grudgingly, that there was a certain attraction to him, but what did that matter, really?

Stepping out of the trees, she blinked when she saw him, sitting on the boulder by the water.  He wasn't paying attention, reading a book, she realized.  Fletch was tethered nearby.

Squaring her shoulders as an insular thought sprang to life in her head, she stepped forward, gathering her resolve.

"Fancy meeting you here," Devlin remarked, closing the book as he turned just enough to peer over his shoulder at her.

She didn't stop until she was standing beside him, her gaze alight with her stubborn determination.

"I realize that the pond's on your Mr. Philips' land, but I couldn't resist," he admitted.  His smile faltered when he finally noticed the steely glint of absolute determination in her eyes.  "Jessa?  Are you all right?"

Ducking her chin as she stared at him, she peered up at him through her eyelashes.  "Devlin, will you do me a favor?"

He looked a little leery, but he nodded.  "If I can," he allowed.

She nodded.  "Kiss me," she blurted, her cheeks pinking just a little.

He blinked, then finally choked out an incredulous laugh.  "I'm sorry.  I thought you just asked me to kiss you."

"I did."

"Oh, bloody hell, you did . . . May I ask why?"

She rolled her eyes.  "Will you do it or not?"

"What's the catch?" he asked, shifting his gaze from side to side, as though he were looking for the answer to his question.

She sighed.  "Forget it, then," she told him, turning on her heel to stomp away, cursing men in general under her breath.  "I'll just go find someone else who'll do it."

"Now, hold on," Devil insisted, hopping down off the boulder to grab her arm.  "I didn't say I wouldn't.  I just wanted to know why you'd want me to."

Crossing her arms over her chest stubbornly, Jessa refused to meet his gaze.  "I . . . I need to compare something," she muttered.

Rubbing his face thoughtfully, he seemed to be considering his options.  "If I refuse, you're just going to go snog some hapless chap, aren't you?"

When she didn't answer, he sighed.

Then he leaned down, and he kissed her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Following her scent through down the path and through the trees, Ashur heaved a sigh.  One way or another, he wanted to get the girl to listen to him, to talk to him.  Maybe he just felt bad over what had happened to her horse.  Maybe just couldn't stop thinking about her absolute melancholy the night that he'd caught her, downing sake.

' _Or maybe it's just that she was jealous as hell last night,_ ' his youkai-voice piped up.

He wasn't sure when that little gem had struck him, but once it had, everything else about last night had made perfect sense.  Oh, he was certain that she'd rather bite her tongue off than admit as much, especially to him.  Still, he couldn't help but think that it did brighten his mood in some weird and rather twisted way.

Stepping out of the treeline, he stopped short, eyes flaring wide as he felt the breath rush right out of him.

There Jessa stood near the pond with some strange man, and they were . . .

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Asher demanded as he shot forward, as he grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and gave him a good shake.  "Just who the hell are you?"

The man seemed surprised—he was youkai—but he held up his hands and shook his head.  "Devlin Broughton," he rasped out.

"Ashur!  Stop it!  Are you mad?" Jessa demanded, grabbing his wrist and tugging to try to make him let go of the stranger.

"Mad is a relative term, Jessa," Ashur bit out.  "I'm going to rip him to shreds."

"You won't!" she insisted.  "Ashur!"

Devlin grimaced.  "She wanted me to kiss her," he admitted.  "It was me or some random bloke—anyone would do, I think—and it was like kissing my sister—I imagine, anyway . . ."

That didn't appease Ashur in the least as he erupted in a low growl.

"If you don't let go of him, I'll set fire to you again," she warned.

Ashur narrowed his eyes at the flames dancing on her palm.  "Damn it—"

"Let him go!" she insisted once more.

Biting out a frustrated sigh, Ashur gave the man a solid shove, but let go.  Devlin spared a moment to frown at Jessa before hurriedly untying his horse and taking off.

Ashur didn't trust himself to speak to her.  Judging from the look on her face, she wasn't too pleased with him, either.  She started to open her mouth, probably to blister his ears, but good.  He narrowed his eyes at her, and she stopped, staring defiantly back at him for a long moment before her gaze dropped to the ground.

And yet, the longer he stood there, the angrier he grew.  The image of that man, kissing her, had burned itself into his mind.  What he wanted to do was to lash out, to rail and rage against her.  Some small part of him, however, didn't let him.  Before he could say something that he might end up regretting, though, he turned on his heel and stalked back toward the path—back toward the house . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
>  _** Silent Reader
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
>  _** minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
>  _** Denyell ——— lianned88 ——— lovethedogs ——— cutechick18
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _She was kissing him …!_


	20. Trial and Error

"I could have told you that it was a stupid idea.  In fact, I think I _tried_ to tell you that," Devlin remarked as he and Jessa rode along the southern edge of his estate.

Jessa scowled, casting Devlin a dark glower.

"I confess," he went on, as though they were discussing the weather, "I'm surprised that he let you out of the house today, much less allowed you to come riding with me . . ."

She snorted.  Loudly.  "Ashur Philips doesn't own me," she shot back, sitting up a little straighter in the saddle.  "And he doesn't tell me what I can and cannot do."

Devlin shot her a no-nonsense look.  "He doesn't have to own you to be thoroughly besotted by you."

"Wh-What?" she barked out, a little harsher than she should have.  "He—He's not—"

Devlin rolled his eyes, but chuckled.  "Honestly, Jessa, why did you want me to kiss you, anyway?  Some sort of exploration and discovery mission, was it?"

The high color in her cheeks must have convinced him that he was right, and he sighed and slowly shook his head.  "I should be properly offended, but I'm not—not really, anyway . . . So, did you figure it out?"

This time, her answer was a long, drawn out, irritated sigh.  "I . . . I thought it'd be the same," she admitted, more in a grumble than in a regular, conversational tone.  "I was . . . was _hoping_ that it wouldn't matter, who did the kissing . . ."

He chuckled.  "But it does, doesn't it?"  He drew a deep breath.  "You could have just asked me.  I would have told you that much."

She snorted.  "And how would you know?  How many women have you been out kissing?"

"Enough to know that it certainly does matter," he shot back pleasantly.  "Anyway, now that we've established that little fact, I take it you have been kissing your Ashur, then."

"Just . . . Just twice," she replied, her tone haughtier than she meant for it to be, almost like she was daring Devlin to say something negative about it, "and he's not _my_ anything."

"Twice, huh?"

She shrugged.  "It's fine, though, because it won't be happening again—not until he stops kissing other women, anyway . . ."

He nodded sagely, as though he understood something she didn't.  "A cad, is he?  Well, that's a shame . . . Although, from what I've seen, women seem to like that bastard type . . ."

She rolled her eyes.  "Can we talk about something _else?_ " she asked pointedly, arching an eyebrow at him to emphasize her question.  Given that she hadn't felt brave enough to even leave her room until she knew that Ashur had stepped out for a bit was telling enough, and not something that she wished to admit, especially to Devlin, and, considering the current conversation, she just wanted to drop it.

"All right," he relented.  "So, what do you want to talk about instead?"

Glancing at him, frowning at his profile, she narrowed her eyes.  "How many women have you kissed?" she asked.

He chuckled and shot her a highly amused look.  "Me?  Oh, so many, I lost track, you know . . . The more, the merrier, I say . . ."

She laughed.  "So . . . less than five; is that what you're saying?"

He shrugged.  "Three.  Well, four, counting you."  He paused, considered that for a moment, then grinned.  "I don't think that I'll count you, though.  Nothing against you—you're a gorgeous little thing—but I wasn't kidding when I said it was like snogging with my sister, and that . . . Well, that's just _weird_ , really . . ."

She stifled a sigh, mostly because his assessment was entirely accurate.  The kiss was nice, sure, pleasant—and entirely without the crazy-mad emotion that those kisses from Ashur had possessed . . .

"Granted, I'm still waiting for my own earth-shaker . . ."  Suddenly, he barked out a laugh—an entirely too amused laugh, actually.

"What's so damn funny?" she demanded when his amusement escalated.

It took a minute for him to wind down enough to speak, and even when he did, he still kept chuckling.  "Earth-shaker," he repeated.  "Your Ashur—he's an earth . . ."

And he dissolved into another round of laughter again.

"You know, you're kind of a jerk," Jessa intoned rather dryly as she nudged Flicker into a gallop.

He didn't stop laughing as he caught up with her, as she dropped Flicker to a steady trot.  "Okay, so, that was a bad joke.  I apologize," he said, sounding anything but contrite.

Jessa snorted.  "A _huge_ jerk."

"I'm nothing if not consistent," he quipped, reining in Fletch.

She let out a deep breath as her gaze swept over the horizon.  Too many things, tumbling about in her head, and none of it really made any sense.  Between Ashur and his brooding hostility since he'd stumbled upon her while she was kissing Devlin and everything else that was always there, she felt as though she were slowly going mad.

' _Brooding hostility?  Way to gild the lily . . . He's furious with you, you realize—with_ you.'

' _It was just one little kiss, not a big deal—certainly nothing for him to get all upset over.  You saw how that woman kept touching him any time she was anywhere close to him.  He was probably off, kissing her while I was cooking or watching Kells . . . If he's that upset, then it's like the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?_ '

Her youkai-voice sighed.  ' _You don't know that there's anything going on there,_ ' it said.  ' _It could just be what you think is there when, in reality, there isn't.  Did you even try asking him?_ '

' _Asking him?  Of course, I did!  You heard me!_ '

' _I heard you screaming at him and railing at him.  I didn't hear you ask him anything; not really . . . because when you ask someone something, then you have to listen to what the answer is, and you didn't._ '

She snorted inwardly.  ' _Because he laughed at me,_ ' she admitted.

' _And he hurt your pride.  You realize, don't you, that you have more than your fair share of that.  Letting go of some of it isn't really a bad thing._ '

' _Why should I do that, I'd like to know?  He doesn't . . . doesn't care about me!  He—_ '

' _Doesn't he?  Do you really think that a man who doesn't care would get that upset over an insignificant little kiss?  Because he wouldn't.  If he didn't care, then he wouldn't have given a fig, either, who you kiss and don't kiss.  Maybe he doesn't even realize it himself yet any more than you do, but it's there, Jessa.  You know it is.  All you have to do is show him._ '

' _Show him what, exactly?_ '

' _You silly girl . . . Show him what's in your heart, in your mind . . . Show him because if you do, maybe . . ._ '

' _Maybe . . .?_ '

Her youkai-voice sighed—a weary kind of sound, a sad kind of sound.  ' _Maybe . . . Maybe we can belong with him, Jessa . . ._ '

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ashur nearly smiled as he gazed at the picture that Manami had sent him: Kells, hanging upside down from the huge arm of a monkey statue—one of the giant climbable sculptures outside the Bevelle Children's Museum.  Nadia and Emmeline were chasing each other around the monkey's spread legs while Bailey sat on one of the monkey's shoulders and Daniel sat on the other.  All in all, it was a very sweet image, and he stared at it for another long moment before sending it to the digital file where he kept all his pictures of Kells.

Then he sighed, letting his phone drop on the wide desk.  Looking over the contract that had been faxed in this morning from the attorney at Muira International, he frowned as he stuck it into a drawer.

It was the very last step, the very last thing that had connected him with his old life.  After much deliberation, he'd opted to sell it—at least, his shares in it.  Besides, with his new job as Canadian general, he was still plenty busy.  Even so, there were a few businesses that he'd been looking at, as well—things that he could buy out and try to build them up, too . . .

It was something that he enjoyed.  When he thought back to those years, especially the early ones with Muira International, it had given him something so much more valuable, a sense that he'd built something entirely on his own.  Sure, the first year or so was heavily subsidized by his father's money.  After that, though, he'd paid Hidekea back within two years and still managed to turn a healthy profit.  He wanted to do something like that again, didn't he?  Only this time, he wanted to build a legacy, something for Kells . . .

' _And for Jessa . . ._ '

Uttering a terse sound not entirely unlike a grunt, Ashur didn't bother to respond to that.

' _You're still mad that she was kissing that guy—your neighbor.  I get you.  To be honest, I'd be a little irritated about it, too, except . . ._ '

' _Except, what?_ ' Ashur growled back.

' _Except that there wasn't anything to it.  You saw it yourself.  You saw her face; you saw his.  They kissed, but it wasn't anything spectacular—not like it was when you've kissed her . . ._ '

' _The idea that she kissed him is more than enough,_ ' he shot back.  ' _Damn it . . ._ '

' _And that's just your bruised ego talking.  Besides, you know that she was already upset about the whole Manami thing, and—_ '

He snorted.  ' _There never_ was _a Manami-thing!  It was the one time, and we were drunk, and it was just one kiss, so—_ '

' _Yeah, except the two of you were going to sleep together—you know it, and I know it.  If there had been even a little spark to it, it would have happened, but you know, the thing is, neither you nor Jessa is perfect.  You've both been muddling through this thing—_ '

' _There isn't a 'thing'_ ,' he argued.  ' _It's . . . It's . . ._ '

' _It's a thing, stupid!  Of course, it's a thing!  It's a thing that might be the best . . . the best thing that ever happened to us if you'd let it be . . . If you_ wanted _it to be._ '

' _And what's that supposed to mean?  She . . ._ '

His youkai sighed.  ' _She's stubborn and impulsive and infuriating . . . passionate and unpredictable and smart . . . and caring and nurturing and absolutely perfect with Kells, too . . ._ '

Making a face, he slid down, slumping over, letting his temple rest on his raised fingertips.  ' _And she's still little more than a child herself._ '

' _That's not the truth, and you know it.  Her age has nothing at all do to with it.  Okay, yeah, so she's only eighteen, but to our kind, that's not really that relevant.  Besides, you saw her in that damned bikini.  Ain't nothing, 'little girl' about that . . ._ '

The fleeting image of her, in that blasted black bikini, shot to life in his head.  There wasn't a part of her he hadn't seen in that, not one bit left to the imagination, and the lust that the very memory could inspire . . .? Entirely unfair, if you asked him . . .

The bottom line of it was that he was treading on very dangerous ground—ground he'd never stepped foot on before.  There was something about Jessa: something that could thrill him, even as it frightened him, too—something about the way she smiled, the brush of her youki over his . . . He could feel it, the overwhelming draw of her, the familiarity in her that belied her age in years, in numbers . . .

As much as he hated to admit it, he was certain that her losses, everything she'd loved that had fallen away, all of that had aged her soul, had driven her emotions well beyond the eighteen physical years of her body.  There was something about her soul that matched his, and whether it was that sense of yearning, that bone-deep sadness that permeated everything around them, he didn't know.

No, the one thing he did understand—understood it on a level that was harsh and frightening—was that he . . . He hated to see that part of her: hated to lay in bed at night, wondering if she were laying in hers, crying alone . . . That smile of hers that had the ability to take his breath away . . . He was willing to spend the rest of his life, caught up in this statis where he still lingered, long after the ghosts had stopped whispering in his ears, if he could hear her laughter, if he knew that it was real, genuine; if he could banish those shadows from her eyes . . .

Which really only left one question in his mind . . .

How . . .?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa pulled herself through the water, ignoring the burning in her muscles as she kept moving, lulled by the rhythmic pattern.  She'd lost track of how many laps she'd already done in the pool, tried not to think about just how silly it was that she missed Kells so badly, especially when she was swimming . . .

If only she could shake off the sense of restlessness, which was the real reason she was out here, working off some nervous energy.  Flipping over, kicking off the wall, she glided through the water.

It was all _his_ fault, damn it.  All of it had started with Ashur Philips, hadn't it?  If he wasn't incessantly so maddening, none of this would have happened.  If he'd just talk to her instead of hiding behind his half-statements and brooding looks, maybe she wouldn't be lost in such a quandary, and maybe she wouldn't have gone looking for answers, in the first place . . .

' _And just why are you blaming your actions on him, Jessa?  Seriously, do you honestly believe that_ he _makes you do things?  He's not God or something, you realize.  He's just a man—a man that you can't figure out, and you're doing what you always do when you can't figure something out: you're blaming your failure on him._ '

' _I am not!  If he'd just be more forthright, then I wouldn't have to question everything all the time!  It's his fault!  His!_ '

' _No, it isn't.  Stop being a spoiled little bitch whose da fixes everything when you go crying to him because, like it or not, it's time to grow up.  You can't fall back on those old tricks.  Da's not around to be your repairman anymore.  I know, it's harsh for me to say that to you, but you know that I'm right._ '

Jessa winced, taking another turn in the water.  ' _Time to grow up . . ._ '

Her youkai sighed.  ' _Yeah, and that means . . . You have to admit, whether you want to or not, that kissing Devlin really wasn't the smartest course of action.  You couldn't really have believed that it wouldn't matter, who you kissed.  Even you, with your limited knowledge, had to understand on some level that it_ does _matter—it matters a lot . . . And you have to realize, too, that those kisses with Ashur?  They really are just as special as you thought._ '

' _But . . . But what does that mean . . .?_ '

' _It means, silly goose, that you really should try_ talking _to Ashur—leave your defenses out of it, leave your pride at the door.  Talk to him, Jessa . . . Maybe you'll get some answers that you need to hear._ '

' _Talk to him_ . . .'

She finished another few laps before letting her feet drop in the shallow end of the pool, heaving a sigh as she lifted her face, as she gauged the time by the position of the sun.  It was somewhere around five in the evening, she decided.  She ought to be starting dinner, but somehow, the idea of sitting down and eating alone just wasn't appealing.

Ashur hadn't bothered to eat last night.  He stayed in his office with the door shut, and she had no reason to think that he'd bother to show his face tonight, either.  That was all right, she figured.  She wasn't particularly hungry herself.

Even so, she waded over to the steps and out of the pool, grabbing the white towel she'd left, tossed over the back of a chair. She draped it around her hips and tucked it in to hold it in place and leaned to the side, pulling her hair together, running her hands down the length of it to squeeze out the excess water, making a face at the chlorine that she needed to wash out.  It was one of the things she hated about pools . . .

"Jessa."

Gasping softly as she whipped around to face the owner of that particular voice, Jessa's eyes flared wide, only to narrow as she met Ashur's inscrutable gaze.  Standing not far away with his hands in his pockets, his shirt caught up by the gentle breeze that ruffled his golden brown bangs, molding his clothing to his body in a wholly provocative sort of way.  Something about the way he stood there, the way he stared at her . . . She could sense the questions in his head, knew what he wanted to know as a strange sort of sensation broke loose somewhere deep inside her, making her limbs feel leaden, making her breath catch between her lips and lungs . . .

"A . . . Ashur . . ."

He sighed, shifting his gaze out over the landscape for a long heartbeat that throbbed in her ears.  "Why would you kiss him?" he asked quietly.  Under his words, she could feel his emotions—the deepening in his gaze, the pain that shifted the clear blue skies to a harsher indigo—and the added spark of unspent anger, of a rage that was thick, that held her back, kept her from approaching him . . .

"I . . . I just wanted to know," she whispered, her gaze dropping away as she crossed her arms over her chest in a protective sort of way.  "I needed to know . . . what's real . . . what's . . . illusion . . . What I . . ."

He nodded slowly, as though something she'd said made perfect sense to him.  "And did you get an answer?"

She didn't respond to that.  What could she say, anyway?  Turning away from him, she shook her head, tried to gather her waning bravado . . .

She couldn't.

Minutes passed that felt like hours.  Maybe they were seconds, she didn't know.  When she turned around again, though, he was gone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader ——— sutlesarcasm ——— xSerenityx020
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda Gauger ——— minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** cutechick18 ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _It'd be easier to talk to him if he stopped walking away!_


	21. Stillness

Jessa stepped into the living room, her fingers wrapped over the long cuffs of her sweater, watching Ashur, who was sitting on the sofa, reading through some kind of file.

Shuffling over to the wetbar, she took her time, pouring him a drink—the cognac that he tended to favor—before taking the snifter and approaching him slowly, cautiously, unsure what to expect, exactly.

She held out the drink between his face and the papers.

He blinked and glanced up at her before accepting the glass.  "Thank you."

She nodded.  "What's that?" she asked, sitting down beside him, pushing her hair back off of her shoulder.

He sighed.  "It's the accident report on your mother's car," he said.

She frowned, face paling as she shot him a questioning look.  "Why?  I mean, it was . . . was an . . . accident . . . Isn't that what they said?"

"I was, uh . . . I just thought that maybe you'd have grounds to sue the manufacturer if it was mechanical failure," he replied, stashing the papers into a file and dropping it onto the coffee table.

Something about his tone . . . She let out a deep breath, rubbing her eyes in a weary sort of way.  "I just . . . I don't want to mess with that," she said.

"Okay," he allowed, sipping his drink.

"It was strange, though," she went on, her gaze clouding over as she brought up her knee, wrapped her arms around her leg.

"What was?"

She shrugged offhandedly.  "Well, Da just got Ma's car out of the shop a couple days before that.  Had a complete tune up and the mandatory vehicle inspection done, and everything was fine or they wouldn't have allowed it on the roads."

"Mm . . ."

"Is that right?"

She nodded.  "Don't they require that here, too?"

He seemed thoughtful.

Resting her cheek on her knee, she stared at him for a long moment.  The warm light from the lamp on the table beside the sofa cast a golden sheen over everything—over him.  The anger that she'd sensed from him earlier was gone, but there was a strange sense of foreboding in his expression, too, though, for some reason, she had a feeling that it wasn't directed at her . . .

"Can I ask you something?" she said quietly, softly.

He sat back, let out a deep breath.  "All right."

"That woman—Manami . . . You said you kissed her before."

He nodded slowly.  "I did."

"But you got mad when I kissed Devlin."

"That's different."

"How's it different?" she challenged.

"Because I kissed her two _years_ ago—maybe more.  I don't remember, and it didn't mean anything to me."

"Then why was she all over you?  Why did she keep touching you and hugging you and . . . hanging off you?"

Snapping his mouth closed on whatever argument he'd been about to make, he heaved a sigh instead, leaning forward, dragging his fingers through his bangs.  "She's a very touchy person," he told her.  "I didn't notice that she was because that's just how she is.  It doesn't mean anything other than that she likes you as a person . . . Why?  Do you care?"  Narrowing his gaze for a moment, only to have them widen in surprise, he stared at her.  "You're jealous," he said, sounding almost gloating.

She felt her cheeks explode in embarrassed color.  "I am not!" she sputtered, sitting up straight.  "Jealous?  Ha!"

He looked entirely too amused, even though he wasn't smiling.  "Would it help if I admitted that I was dead damn jealous of your little weenie friend?"

"No, it wou—He's not a weenie!"

Ashur rolled his eyes as he drained his glass and set it aside.  "He's a weenie," he insisted.

She snorted, shooting to her feet as she headed out of the living room.  "This is what happens when I try to talk to you like an adult," she fumed, more to herself than to him.  "Delusional!  Positively delusional!  As if I'd be jealous of . . . of her!"

"Jessa," he called after her.

Against her better judgment, she stopped, turned to face him. "What?" she replied mulishly.

He stood up and shuffled over to her, corners of his lips quirked just slightly, though he didn't actually smile.  The blue of his eyes seemed to dance, to sparkle, as he hooked his index finger under her chin, lifting it to force her head back, to force her to look at him.  "If you admit you're jealous, I'll kiss you," he said.

She felt her mouth go bone-dry as conscious thought flew right out of her head.  Staring into his eyes was akin to being too close to a fire, liquefying her insides, sending out a slow burn . . .

Letting his hand drop away from her, he sighed and leaned back on his heels.  "Have it your way, Jessa," he said.  "For now, anyway . . ."

She stood there for a moment longer until her body finally caught up to her mind.  Then, with a frustrated little growl, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the living room and toward the stairs.

She thought she might have heard him chuckle.  She didn't go back to check.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He marched into the opulent office, stepping past the butler, who closed the door without a word.  The weak and vague light outside the twenty-foot-tall windows echoed his mood and had for the last few days.  The overcast weather had followed him around for the last few weeks, or so it seemed, ever since that morning when he'd come down stairs, only to find that they were gone—absconded without a trace.

"Have you managed to locate him?"

Grimacing inwardly at the no-nonsense question, Carl Kingston balled up his fist, tapping his knuckles against the corner of the looming desk.  "Not yet, but my man is working on it."

"Then, is this even necessary?" Ian MacDonnough asked, holding up an official document by the corner, his articulated claws flashing as they caught the light of the desk lamp that did little to disburse the murkiness of the room in general.

Kingston uttered a terse grunt as he stomped across the floor and back. "I don't understand how this all fell apart!" he grumbled.

"It's simple," Ian remarked, dropping the document onto the desk.  "You lack control over your household."

Blanching at the European tai-youkai's set-down, Carl shook his head.  "It'll be fine once I find him.  I'll bring him home, kicking and screaming if I have to . . . You know where the gel is, don't you?"

"My sources tell me she is staying with her cousin in the States."

Carl stopped, mid stride, to pin Ian with a dark look.  "What the bloody hell is she doing there?  That's the Zelig's territory!  He won't send her back, probably just to spite you."

"I am well aware of that, Your Grace," Ian replied calmly.  "It's of little consequence.  All you have to do is gain your son's compliance, and he can go . . . claim his bride."  Ian stood up, rounded the desk, crossed the floor to fill a glass with single malt scotch.  "What he does with her after the fact is entirely up to his discretion.  The Zelig will have no at all to say, one way or the other."  Taking his time, he sipped the liquor before flicking a hand in obvious dismissal.  "You may go.  I trust you'll have better news for me the next time you darken my doorstep?"

Carl nodded slowly.  "Absolutely," he said, inclining his head before turning to leave.

"Kingston," he said before Carl made it to the door.

"Yes?"

"If word gets out that your heir has turned on you, it could undermine your authority in the worst possible way."

He nodded again, gritting his teeth as the door swung open before he could reach for the handle.  The warning was there, rife in Ian's tone.  If he failed to find his son—if he couldn't convince the fool that this marriage was necessary, both for his own good as well for the overall reinforcement of the tai-youkai's power, not to mention the benefits for himself, personally.  The prophecy . . .

Well, he didn't really want to think about it.  After all, Ian had a way of making sure that things were done his way . . . or not at all . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ashur chuckled as Jessa made her haughty escape and considered going after her for a brief moment, if only to see if he couldn't tease her just a little more . . .

' _That isn't a good habit to get into, Kyouhei . . . That girl can start fires, remember?  Tease her too much, and you're liable to end up toast._ '

That thought only made him chuckle a little more.

' _Yeah, well, instead of conjuring up ways to drive her batty—and to keep her at a distance, if that's what you're trying to do—maybe you should consider what she told you about her mom's car, instead._ '

And that thought was enough to wipe the smile off his face, and the amusement right out of his head.

' _Fine, fine . . . Now that you've ruined my mood, guess there's no time like the present . . ._ '

Seeing no way around it, Ashur dug out his cell phone and dialed the number.

"Zelig."

"Hi, it's Ashur."

"Oh, hey, how do you like Quebec?"

"Uh, it's fine," he said, rushing through the pleasantries.  "Myrna's cousin is staying with me—"

"Right, they mentioned that.  How is she doing?"

Rubbing his forehead, he made a face.  "She's fine—well, you know, as fine as she can be, given the circumstances.  Anyway, I asked the consulate for a copy of the accident report that killed her mom, and I was looking it over, but something Jessa said to me . . ."

"What's that?"

Ashur reached for the report, leafed through a few of the pages.  "Well, that's the strange part.  She said that her father had just had her mother's car serviced a few days before that, including the necessary vehicle inspection—mandatory by all European countries.  The thing is, there should have been a copy of that inspection here in the file to prove that an accident wasn't known mechanical failure—it's standard to have an attached copy of it, and this one doesn't have that."

"Really . . ."

"They deemed the accident, 'faulty fuel lines', saying that they failed by springing a leak, which led to the explosion over the gas main."

Cain sighed.  "But if the lines were just inspected, then they should have been replaced if they were found to be compromised," he finished.  "Can you send me a copy of that report?  It's, uh, not my jurisdiction, but I have a couple car experts who might be able to figure a few things out for me.  When was that accident?"

Ashur sighed, too.  "Over a year ago."

"Damn . . . Then, even if I can convince Sesshoumaru to order a new investigation, the car has probably already been disposed of . . ."

"That's what I thought, too."

"All right," Cain said.  "Send me that report, and I'll look it over, too.  Have you said anything to the girl about your suspicions?"

"No, but . . . I mean, I'm not keeping it from her, per se, but she said she didn't want to look at any of the reports so far, not that I can fault her for that . . . There's more to it, too."

"Oh?"

"I'll, uh . . . I'll send you the information Ben found for me.  I can't really talk about it all right now, but I'll send you what I know."

"Okay."

The call ended, and Ashur sighed again.  The parts of everything individually weren't that concerning.  It wasn't until he put them all together in his head that they became something more, and those things worried him more than he wanted to credit . . .

A strange little song interrupted the quiet, and Ashur frowned.  It took him a minute to locate the source: Jessa's cell phone.  It must have slipped out of her pocket when she was sitting with him.

Frowning at the caller ID, he shook his head.  ' _Carol_ ', was all it said.   With a flick of his finger, he sent it to voicemail since he figured that she wouldn't really welcome his intrusion, especially if she'd already gone to bed.

The song started again before he could set the phone down, and he shook his head, sending the call to voicemail once more.

The third time it rang, he declined the call and opened the messaging menu, figuring he'd at least let her know that Jessa had gone to bed and would call her back tomorrow.  When it rang a fourth time, however, he sighed, and connected the call.

"Hello?"

"Je—You're not Jessa."

He almost smiled at the surprised woman's words.  "No, I'm Ashur," he said.  "She's in her room.  I think she might have already gone to bed.  I'll tell her that you called in the morning.  I'm sure she'll call you back."

"You're answering her phone now?" Carol asked.

Ashur snorted.  "Only when it rings four times in a row.  Is this an emergency?"

Carol sighed.  "No, I was just going to tell her that I managed to get a few days off work if she still wanted me to come up to visit—if it's okay with you, big guy."

"It depends," he said, settling back against the sofa. "You're not going to try to drag her out to get another illegal job at a hell hole strip club, are you?"

"Well, I wasn't planning on it, and you know, just for the record, she did pretty well for herself.  I mean, with the exception of that asshole that tried to attack her out back, she—"

"What?"

Carol sighed.  "It wasn't a big deal.  I kicked the guy in the nuts, and he left her alone after that."

"She was attacked?" he demanded sharply.

Carol hesitated before answering.  "She didn't tell you about that, I take it . . ."

"No, she didn't.  When did this happen?"

"Couple weeks into it," she said.  "Look, don't be mad at her.  No harm, no foul, right?  Besides, she was pretty shaken up over it at the time."

"What did the guy look like?  Better yet, what did he _smell_ like?"

"Him?  He smelled like . . . like Heineken . . . That was a weird question."  She sighed.  "Listen, Ashur—can I call you that?"

"Yeah, it's fine," he bit out.

"Great . . . So, anyway, don't come down too hard on her about it.  I'm serious . . . I thought that she'd told you about it.  I mean, she said that you insisted that she learn some self-defense, so I just figured . . ."

"Right," he said, managing a bored tone that he was far from feeling.

Carol snorted.  "Don't make me regret trying to help you out."

"Oh?  And how did you do that?"

"That's for Jessa and me to know . . . and if you're nice to her, maybe you'll find out."

"You're not winning points," he informed her dryly.

She laughed.  "How about if I say that I told her that she ought to jump you?"

Snapping his mouth closed as his cheeks heated under his skin.  "Uh . . ."

Her laughter was entirely pleasant, even if it was sorely misplaced in his estimation.  "Relax, Ashur.  I'm on your side.  You and Jessa would make entirely sweet little babies."

"Babies?"

"Lots of babies."

Ashur grimaced.  "I'm hanging up now."

She laughed again.  "Bye, Ashur.  It was very interesting, talking to you."

He hung up the phone and scowled.  She was attacked at that God-forsaken place?  And she hadn't bothered to tell him about it, either . . .

Regardless of how long ago that it had happened, it bothered him more than he wanted to think about.

The thing was, he wasn't sure that starting the next war with Jessa would ultimately be worth it, and he had very little doubt that that's exactly what would happen if he went charging up there to confront her about it now.

' _Just be thankful that she's fine, Ashur, because Carol's right.  It's a little too late to take issue over it now._ '

' _Maybe . . . Still . . ._ '

' _Well, if you're going to say something to her about it, at least sleep on it, first.  Then you'll at least have a fighting chance of not saying something entirely stupid._ '

He snorted, hauling himself off the couch and over to the wetbar to pour himself another drink.

Sleep on it?  "Right . . ."

Somehow, he didn't think he was going to feel any differently in the morning . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sorry for the "late" update … I fell asleep around NINE lol!_
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
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>  ** _MMorg  
>  _** Usagiseren05 ——— smpnst
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>  ** _AO3  
>  _** Amanda Gauger ——— minthegreen
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>  ** _Forum  
>  _** Denyell ——— lovethedogs
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _What did she do for us …?_


	22. Stardust

Ashur frowned thoughtfully as he watched Thurston Margreave and his wife was they unloaded the horse, who was nervously prancing, pawing the ramp as they led him down off the trailer.

He was magnificent, that creature.  Given that Ashur knew next to nothing about horses in general, even he could tell that there was something special about this one, and he slowly nodded.  The stark white Arabian with the dark eyes was absolutely stunning, really—glistening like freshly fallen snow.  Every inch of him exuded such power: power that radiated with his unbridled spirit—a spirit that mirrored Jessa's.  From the moment that Thurston had opened the door on the trailer, Ashur had seen it: the same sort of longing in the depths of the horse's eyes.  In his own primitive way, he was searching, too, and Ashur had to wonder if Jessa could tame that horse, or if that horse would end up, taming her . . .

He'd called to arrange a visit to check out the stables, but Thurston had mentioned that he was getting ready to take his wife on a cruise—something that he'd promised her, he'd said, months ago for their anniversary—and that they'd be out of town for about a month.  Ashur had then asked if there was someone else that Thurston knew of who had a horse that they might be willing to sell, and the thespian had offered to let Ashur take this one on a trial basis.  He'd said that his stable hand who normally was in charge of him—Stardust was his name—would accompany the horse to oversee his care and to make sure that he was being properly treated since Thurston hadn't gotten a chance to observe Jessa's skills with horses himself, and since Ashur really couldn't say much other than that he knew she'd had a horse most of her life, that she'd taken dressage lessons for a long, long while . . .

"So, what do you think?" Thurston asked as the stable hand—a Peary Caribou-youkai named Laith McKenna—led the horse toward the stable.

"It's a beautiful animal," Ashur agreed.

Thurston nodded happily.  "And your girl—she used to have a horse of her own?"

"She was given a gypsy cob when she was twelve," he replied.  "I've seen pictures.  Dead gorgeous creature . . ."

Thurston nodded again, idly rubbing his slight potbelly.  "Gypsy cob, you say?  Beautiful horses, those are," he agreed.  "Not as common around here, though . . ."

"She's from Ireland," he explained.  "Let me go get her."

"Oh, absolutely, absolutely!" Thurston said as his mate stepped up beside him.  "You mind if we take a look around?  Make sure that it's all good in there?  Not that I don't trust you, of course.  Just want to make sure that it's all secure . . . Stardust is a valuable horse.  Probably could be trained to be a racer, if you had the inclination . . . His sire's Heartwind's Lovelorn Lost . . ." Chuckling softly at the blank expression on Ashur's face, he slowly shook his head.  "He won the Kentucky Derby a few years ago," he said.  "He also won the Canadian Triple Crown when he was younger, too.  Stardust, here . . . Well, he's fast— _really_ fast.  He doesn't actually have the disposition for racing, though.  He rides the fine line between being a runner and being a runaway . . . Gentle enough if he likes you, though . . . He tends to be a little on the nervous side . . ."

"Go right ahead," Ashur said, waving a hand toward the stable.  "I'll be right back."

Striding away, he headed for the house, wondering if Jessa was awake yet.  It was entirely possible that she was still sleeping.  After all, he'd seen her light on under her door last night when he'd gone to bed.

After Carol's phone call, it was all he could do, not to march right into her room and demand to know what had happened.  Too bad his youkai was right.  If he had, he'd have just rekindled the fighting, and he wasn't sure that it would be worth it in the end.  Better to focus on the idea that she was safe now, that she was all right . . .

"Jessa," he said as he strode into her room.

She groaned and yanked the blankets up over her head, muttering something entirely unintelligible under her breath.

Shaking his head as he stepped over to the bed, he pulled the covers back.  "Jessa . . . Get up.  There's someone here you should meet."

With a frustrated little growl, she sat up, casting Ashur a very petulant little scowl.  "Who, and why can't they come back at a decent hour?"

"And what, pray tell, is a decent hour when it's already nearly ten in the morning?"  He almost chuckled.  "Come outside when you're dressed," he said, ignoring her outburst as he turned and walked out of her room once more.

' _There's something ridiculously cute about that girl, first thing in the morning . . ._ '

He sighed as he descended the stairs.  Yeah, he had to agree, there really was. . . Maybe it was the crazy tousled hair of hers, or the sleepy-bleary quality in her eyes . . . In any case, if he didn't need to get her downstairs to meet Stardust and the Margreaves, he would have stood there longer, watching her while she slept . . .

' _That's because she's entirely beautiful, even when she first wakes up, it seems . . ._ '

There was that, too . . .

"She'll be down in a minute," he said as he stopped near the open stable doors.

Thurston turned around, nodding appreciatively as he hurried over to Ashur.  "The stable is very good—very sound," he approved.  "Are you planning on hiring a master of stables?  If so, I'd be more than happy to suggest a few . . ."

"I'd appreciate that," he said.

"What's . . . going on?" Jessa asked, glancing around as she stopped beside Ashur.  She'd taken the time to toss on a pair of jeans and a cute little pink tee-shirt, and she still looked just as good as she would have, if she had taken more time and fussed over her appearance.

Ashur glanced down at her and then nodded toward the far end of the stable—the open doors that led to the paddock directly beyond.  "Go see."

She paused to give him a suspect frown before striding away.  Ashur fell into step behind her, close enough to hear her soft gasp as she stepped outside, as her gaze lit on Stardust.  "Oh . . ."

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he stepped behind her and leaned down.  "Mr. Margreave, here, has offered to let us house Stardust for the next month," he said.  "If you like him—if the two of you get along well—then we can talk about a more permanent arrangement."

The expression on her face was well worth the effort—the bright smile, the wide-eyed wonder . . . She looked like she'd just been given the best surprise, ever, and in Ashur's estimation, that was well worth the effort.

"Mr. Philips tells me that you're well-versed in dressage," Thurston said, extending his hand to Jessa.  "I'm Thurston Margreave.   You must be Jessa."

She nodded and took his hand, managing to draw her gaze off Stardust for a moment to smile politely at the man.

No doubt about it, Ashur thought as Thurston and his wife tried to talk to Jessa, and she tried to reply without looking too disinterested, even though he could feel the excitement she was having trouble containing.  She was like Stardust, who was pawing the ground where he stood nearby, and if Ashur didn't know better, he'd swear that the beast was actually staring at Jessa, too.

She was smitten: _entirely_ smitten.

With a horse.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa stepped into the house with a happy sigh.  After having spent the vast majority of the day, getting to know Stardust, she was tired but content—a feeling she hadn't had in such a very long time.  The Margreaves had stayed long enough to put a saddle on Stardust, to watch her as she handled him a little—long enough for them to see that she had skill enough to be trusted with the horse.  The saddle didn't fit her very well, though, and she wanted to get a better one before she tried to take him out for a ride.

Pausing in the foyer, she stretched out her youki, let it fill the area on a careful search.

She smiled as the knowledge came to her.  Ashur was in his office, probably with his face buried in one thing or another.  It was her considered opinion that he took everything far too seriously.  In the length of time that she'd known him, she couldn't rightfully recall him ever doing anything for fun unless Kells was involved, and that was always more for the child than it ever was for him.

A vague frown settled over her features, and she bit her lip.  For some reason, that bothered her a lot, didn't it?  That he would go out of his way to do the things that Kells enjoyed, that he would bend over backward to give her a job, a place to live, and now to acquire Stardust?  He wasn't a horseman, and she knew damn well that he hadn't brought the animal here for himself.  No, Stardust was most certainly for her, but . . .

She took her time, removing her boots, wondering absently if she couldn't arrange a trip to the stores to buy more appropriate riding attire.  She had little doubt that he would take her, but the idea of imposing upon him really bothered her, too.  Even so, she needed a good saddle and tack before she could even think about trying to ride Stardust, so swallowing her pride and asking was really her only recourse.

' _Well, you do have money, if you remember.  He's done something so nice for you, maybe you should offer to return the favor on some level_.'

' _Oh?  And how would that be?_ '

Her youkai laughed.  ' _Take him out to dinner or something.  Besides, it'd be nice to spend some time with him when you're not trying to analyze everything, don't you think?_ '

' _Take him out?  Where . . .?_ '

' _Come on, Jessa, it's not that difficult?  Just find out somewhere that has good food, and that should be fine._ '

She nodded at her youkai's suggestion and drew a deep breath as she padded over to his office door and knocked.

"Come in."

The door didn't make a sound as she pushed it open, as she hovered in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the wooden frame.  He didn't look up from whatever held his attention, and she slowly shook her head.  "Have you been in here, working all day?" she asked in a tone that she hoped was casual enough.

"Some of us cannot afford the luxury of playing the day away," he said, and, while his words were harsh, his tone was not.  In fact, he sounded almost amused.

Pushing away from the doorframe, she wandered over, stepped behind him, rubbing his shoulders like she used to do for her father whenever he spent all day, working harder than he should have.  "I wondered if you would give me a ride into the city," she said, digging harder at a particularly tight spot at the base of his neck.

He groaned quietly.  She wasn't sure if he even realized he'd done it or not.  "And why do you want to go?" he asked.

"I wanted to look for a decent saddle," she replied.  "Maybe some boots and better pants for riding . . ."

"Hmm, can we do it tomorrow?  I'm a little busy here."

"Well, I was also going to offer to buy you dinner," she said.  "Are you really that busy?  Do you ever get to go out and do something just because you want to?  Just because it's fun?  What about sightseeing?  I mean, there have to be some places around here that are worth visiting, right?"

"Who says that I don't enjoy working?" he countered dryly.

"No one enjoys working," she argued with a grimace.  "It . . . Forget about it . . . It was a . . . a stupid thought . . ."

"Wait," he called as she headed for the door.  She stopped and slowly turned to face him again.  He hadn't dropped the paperwork in his hands, but he was looking at her, his gaze full of a certain curiosity.  "I'm interested in this idea of yours," he admitted.  "But surely you realize that a gentleman isn't supposed to allow a lady to take him out to dinner."

She shrugged.  "When's the last time you did anything that wasn't work, wasn't for Kells, or wasn't for . . ." She cleared her throat, ". . . for me . . .?"

Settling back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest, stared at her for a moment with a calculating look on his face.  She couldn't tell what he was thinking, but she had a feeling that he was considering exactly what to say to her.  "I like working," he finally admitted with an offhanded shrug.  "I like taking care of Kells . . . and you . . ."  Suddenly, he sighed, pushing away from the desk, getting to his feet to pace the floor.  "I never really learned how to  . . . to play, I guess," he admitted, and she had to wonder if he even realized what he was saying.  "My parents . . . They weren't exactly what you'd call playful or anything.  Everything was always some kind of lesson, had to have a proper goal . . ."

Wandering over to intercept him, Jessa grabbed his hands, held them firmly in hers.  "Come on, Ashur," she said quietly, gently.  "I'll give you half an hour to get changed or whatever it is you need to do.  Then we'll go find something . . . something fun to do—something without your proper goal."

"Something fun," he echoed, and even though he wasn't smiling, his eyes seemed to glow.

She nodded, letting go of his hands as she hurried out of the room and up the stairs to change.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Leaning against the smooth and polished railing of the _Reine du Québec_ as they enjoyed the late-night dinner cruise down the St. Lawrence River, around the île d'Orléans, taking in the breathtaking sight of the city at night, Jessa sighed, but it was a contented sound—a pleased sound.  They'd finished dinner in one of the four three-Michelin-star rated restaurants on the ship, and they had decided to walk around the fourth-story deck.

It was a newer ship, a floating luxury hotel with around three hundred rooms, all touted as being state-of-the-art, and the multiple restaurants were all available for the lunch and early evening dinner cruises along the river.  The late night dinner, however, was another matter, entirely.  It was only open and available to those who were staying in the hotel portion of the ship, and those rooms tended to be booked for weeks or sometimes months in advance.

Ashur had asked the sales girls while Jessa was trying on riding pants for suggestions of things to do in and around the city, and one of them had suggested the cruise.  She said that it was beautiful, that people loved to propose there.  There was lore, she said, that couples who got engaged on it never, ever got divorced.  He wasn't sure what he thought of that, but it sounded like it might be all right, and Jessa had liked the idea of the dinner cruise well enough . . .

He'd found out about the lunch and early evening cruise services over the phone, and that's when he'd been told that he could only book reservations for dinner if he booked a room, as well, when he'd called to check availability for the night cruise.   Luckily for him, someone had called and canceled just minutes before, so there was a room available for the night, as well, and, since Jessa seemed to think that Ashur was anything but spontaneous, he'd booked the room and the cruise.  Then he'd dragged her to another couple stores in order to buy whatever they might need since they didn't have time to run back to the estate to pack an overnight bag.

Looking at her now, bathed in the dancing lights of the boat, the twinkling stars high above, the glow of the city that was as gentle as it was constant, he could only think that the positively ridiculous amount of money he'd shelled out for the room and to buy her something appropriate for dinner was well worth the cost, and the sight of her when she'd stepped out of the bedroom of the small suite, all dressed up and ready for their evening on the _Reine du Québec_?   The slate grey satin dress—just a few shades above black and Ashur's ceremonial color, which he knew she wasn't aware of, but couldn't help the misplaced pride that she'd chosen it, anyway—fit her perfectly, molded to her body, hugging her curves like a second skin to the hips, where the skirt flared just enough to give some wispy motion to the garment that just brushed mid-thigh, exposing a dizzying amount of her long, long legs, which were only emphasized by the dainty three-inch-heels with straps that wrapped around her slender ankles.  The pale, creamy skin of her throat, her upper chest, seemed to glow in the light, drawing extra attention to the absolutely perfection of her face, her sooty eyes, her rose-kissed cheeks and wine-red lips . . . Hair swept up and fastened with a barrette, only to cascade down her back in a riot of crimson curls, the girl was positively radiant, even as she'd stood there, as she'd offered him a rather nervous little smile that had faltered slightly as the seconds had ticked away, as he fought to recall that it was rude to stare, that he really ought to say or do something instead of simply standing there like a wax dummy at Madame Tussauds . . .

And, unfortunately, something else he'd realized over the course of the evening?  Other men seemed to be entirely too aware of Jessa, too, the bastards.  More than once so far, he'd caught himself, growling under his breath when he'd caught a head turned just a little too far, when eyes lingered just a little too long on her as they passed by.

' _Which is nothing but solid jealousy, Kyouhei—utter jealousy that you just don't wear well, you know._ '

He snorted.  ' _Nope, those bastards just need to stop looking.  I mean, it's pretty obvious that she's with me, isn't it?  And it's Ashur, remember?_ '

' _Ashur—Kyouhei . . . Does it really matter?  It doesn't, so shut up . . . Anyway,_ _relax.  They're just enjoying the proverbial view . . . The only thing you have to worry about is whether she likes any of them better than she likes you._ '

"Ashur?  Are you . . . all right . . .?"

Blinking away his youkai-blood's irritating commentary, Ashur glanced at Jessa, who was frowning at him in obvious concern.  "Everything's fine," he muttered, raising his gaze as the first of the fireworks shot off into the sky. "Just arguing with myself."

He could feel her eyeing him, and suddenly, she laughed.  "You mean, I'm not the only one who does that?"

He snorted.  "I highly doubt it," he replied.  Suddenly, he chuckled, and it made her pause, hesitate as she stared back at him, too.  "I'll bet mine is more annoying than yours."

"You make it sound like this is some sort of contest.  It's not, but if it were, then I'd have to say that mine is by far worse than yours."

Another round of fireworks exploded.  Jessa gasped quietly as golds and reds showered down so slowly, so low that it was almost as though they could touch them.  "How is this on your scale of fun?" he asked, the teasing tone in his voice understated but present.

"This isn't bad at all," she said.  "I mean, I could have gone for pizza and a movie . . . but this is nice, too."

Slipping a hand onto the small of her back, he watched the fireworks in silence for another minute before looking back at her once more.  Eyes softly glowing, that small smile, tugging on her lips . . . She could have been a million miles away, and yet . . . Just what was she thinking?  And why did he know that, whatever it was, it made her sad, despite the little smile . . .?  "What are you thinking about?" he asked her.

She blinked, looked surprised for a moment as she quickly shook her head.  "It's . . . It's nothing . . . I was just . . ." Trailing off with a quiet sigh that was more of a lifting of her shoulders than an actual sound, she rubbed her arms as though she were cold.  He shrugged off his jacket—he'd bought it just for tonight—and dropped it over her shoulders.  As a fire-youkai, she was inherently more sensitive to the fluctuations in temperatures, and the breeze coming off the water was pretty chilly, even for mid-June.

She shot him a grateful smile, her hands reaching up to hold the lapels close to her.  "I was just thinking about Ma," she admitted.  "Sometimes I wish I hadn't been so . . . so stubborn with her."  She grimaced, slowly shaking her head again.  "I thought that she was such a nuisance sometimes—I mean, I loved her so much, but . . ."

"You were a child," he told her.  "Don't be too hard on yourself."

She didn't look like she was buying his words.  "The . . . The day of her accident, I . . ." she grimaced, then heaved a shaky sigh.  "She wanted to throw another ball—to capitalize on the first one, I guess.  She had this friend—well, frienemy?  Countess Thatcher . . . The countess had a granddaughter who was around the same age as me, and she was always trying to compare us—our grades, our lessons . . . All of it, and my ma, well, she hated whenever she thought that Lila—the countess' granddaughter—might have one up on me, so she'd do things to try to push me farther . . ." She wrinkled her nose. "It was kind of sick, actually . . ."

"Parental rivalry," he mused.  "Interesting."

She rolled her eyes, shot him a baleful look.  "Not especially.  Anyway, Ma was having one of her moments about it—Lila, she'd been told, had at least four men asking about her after her debut.  So, we argued about it, and I . . ." she flinched.  "I told her to get into her bloody car and go as far away as she could get."

He grimaced inwardly.  "And then, she didn't come home."

She nodded sadly, miserably.

"It's not your fault, you know," he said, drawing her into a hug.  "You couldn't have known what was going to happen, and even if you had, parents . . . Parents aren't always right."

She leaned back, her gaze so dark in the night as a million little flecks of light danced, sparkled.  "Your parents . . . They hurt you, didn't they?"

He couldn't answer her question, and he wasn't sure why.  As though he somehow felt as if he didn't have the authority to talk about it—as though he thought that his part in it all had negated his right to speak of it, ever.  "My parents . . . They . . . did the best that they could," he muttered, unable to look her in the eyes with the blatant lie spilling from his lips.

She could tell, couldn’t she?  She saw right through it.  Uttering a terse little sound, almost a whine, she reached up, drew him down, her lips finding his with a tenderness, a gentleness, as though she were trying to pull away the sadness that she could sense, even if she didn't understand it.

He tried to hold onto it, didn't want her to take it away, not because he wanted to keep it, but because . . . because maybe he deserved it, but the desperation in her reached out to him, held tight to him as he slipped his arms around her, as the balm of her lips opened under his, drawing him in deeper, reacting on instinct as she allowed her youki to wash over his, buffering the jagged edges of the sadness that he held on to so tightly.  He gave it up, allowed her to soothe him, took the comfort that she so willingly offered with the touch of her lips, with the stroke of her fingertips on the nape of his neck, as her heart beat louder, stuttering yet steady, as a sense of hope—something he'd lost so long ago—sparked to life with the incandescence of Jessa's flame . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
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>  ** _MMorg  
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>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda+Gauger ——— minthegreen ——— miwem
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>  ** _Forum  
> _** Thanatos ——— lianned88 ——— lovethedogs
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> ==========
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _A date, huh …?_


	23. Insomnia

Ashur handed Jessa a glass of wine as she fiddled with the stereo panel on the nightstand.  "Just one," he said, cocking an eyebrow at her as he set his glass aside to roll up his sleeves.

"Don't want to get me drunk so you can try to take advantage of me?" she quipped, sipping the wine, settling on a jazz station and turning up the volume just enough to add background sound in the quiet room.

"Not even remotely amusing, Jessa O'Shea," he pointed out.  "I'm old enough to be your . . . great-great-great grandfather at least."

She smiled, leaning down to unbuckle her shoes.  "Are you one of those people who is stuck on ages?"

"A little," he confessed.  Then he sighed.  "Sometimes it's damn hard to remember how old you are—or aren't."

She snorted, reaching into one of the shopping bags for a change of clothes.  "Funny.  You weren't complaining when we were watching fireworks," she reminded him in an almost sullen tone of voice.

She didn't see the half-smile that quirked his lips.  "I was caught up in the moment," he replied.

The narrow-eyed look that he got for that comment was almost enough to make him laugh outright.  "There you go: ruining my _almost_ favorable impression of you."

He sat on the end of the bed to kick off his shoes.  "And if I said that I have another surprise for you tomorrow?"

She paused with her hand on the bathroom doorknob.  "What kind of surprise?"

He made a face that she didn't catch.  "One that wasn't my idea at all," he said dryly.

Tapping her claws against the bathroom door, she sighed.  "You're not going to tell me what it is, are you?"

"Nope."

She heaved a very melodramatic sigh.  "That's what I thought."

He chuckled as she slipped into the bathroom to change—until he remembered that he hadn't actually bought a thing to wear for sleeping in, and that kind of figured.

Strange, how he felt somehow lighter since he'd kissed her under the light of the fireworks display.  It wasn't a carefree feeling, no, but he couldn't deny the slight lifting of his spirits that was hard to reconcile.

' _Maybe she's magic,_ ' his youkai-voice quipped.

Snorting indelicately, Ashur slowly shook his head.  ' _Maybe you're the dumbest youkai-voice, ever._ '

The voice laughed.  ' _Okay, okay, there's no such thing as magic, but if there were, that girl . . . She'd have it._ '

He almost smiled as he started to unbutton his shirt.  ' _She . . . She probably would._ '

The bathroom door opened with a squeak, and he turned to glance over his shoulder at her, only to do a double take.  She'd let her hair down.  It spilled around her in a tangle of loose curls that caught the dull lamplight and held it, bathing her in a fiery glow like the sunset, framing her face, darkening her gaze . . .

She carefully shook out the dress, moving across the room, her feet whispering against the carpet, the dress rustling against the plastic garment bag as she hung it up, meticulously stowing it and the shoes inside.

That done, she retrieved her glass of wine and shuffled over to the bed, crawling up on it as the scooped neckline of the pink satin nightgown, barely brushing the tops of her knees and was little more than a bit of fabric held up by thin strands of ribbon, fell open just enough to allow him a momentary view that made him grind his teeth together hard as he turned his face away for his own salvation.

' _Oh, damn . . . Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn . . ._ '

He nodded slightly.  He couldn't have said that better himself . . .

She flipped the television on with the remote and shut off the radio, shuffling through the channels, completely oblivious to what should have been his very obvious preoccupation.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" she asked, breaking the silence as she brought up the television menu.

"You . . . aren't tired yet?" he asked after clearing his throat a few times.

"Not really," she replied, sounding a bit distracted.  "Oh, we could watch _Morning of the Demon Dead._ "

"That doesn't really sound like a very good movie," he pointed out, grabbing his wine glass and heading out of the room to refill it.

"That's what's fun about it," she called after him.  "You only watch movies like this so you can laugh about them and make off-color commentary during it."

He sloshed wine into his glass and turned to go back, but changed his mind and grabbed the bottle before striding back into the bedroom once more.  She was sitting on the white lace coverlet, her legs folded together and bent to the side demurely.  Still, he could see her curves well enough, and he sighed.  The next time he decided to be spontaneous, he could only hope that he'd have enough foresight to shop better—and to make sure that that girl had a bathrobe . . .

A blood-curdling scream made him jump slightly, and he shot her a bored sort of look as he slipped onto the bed beside her.

"Did that really scare you?" she scoffed, pinning him with a disbelieving look.

"No," he said.  "Unexpected screams, however, are enough to startle me."

She nodded slowly, but didn't look like she was entirely convinced.  "Those kids there decided to spend the night in that graveyard and pray to the headstones of two people, rumored to have been demons, but they had to do it exactly as the sun came up, and it should have bound the demons to the kids to do their bidding, but they were a few seconds late, so now the demons are free," she explained.

"They prayed?  To a headstone?" he echoed flatly.

She laughed.  "No . . . They prayed to _two_ of them."

He slowly nodded.  "If they were rumored to have been demons, why are the buried in with the general population, and why would they have headstones, to begin with?  And—"

"Because they needed the headstones to pray to or the entire movie would have just not happened," she replied, eyes wide, glued on the television.

"Good God, you're enjoying this crap," he blurted.

She waved a hand at him to shut him up.  "Oh, that lad's toast," she predicted.  A minute later, the demons jumped out from behind a door—a damn door—and ripped the boy's head off.  "I was right!  Where's a pad of paper?  I need to keep score . . ."

"Score?"

She nodded, twisting to the side, opening the nightstand to look for a tablet of paper and a pen.  "Uh huh . . . You have to make predictions as you watch, and then you get a point for every prediction that comes true."

He chuckled despite himself.  "You have a very odd way to watch movies, Jessa."

She shrugged as she made two columns on the paper: one for him and one for her.

"That one's going to die next," she said, gesturing at the television with the pencil.

"She's not going to die.  She's the main character," he pointed out.

"They kill off main characters all the time," she scoffed.  "Don't you ever watch serials?"

"Not if I can help it," he muttered, sipping the wine as she handed him her glass without looking away from the television.  He rolled his eyes but refilled it for her before handing it back.

"Oh!  They're cuing the creepy music," she said, sitting up a little straighter.  "You know, I like her hair . . . I've always wondered how I'd look if I had blonde hair . . ."

Ashur snorted.  "What's wrong with your hair?  I mean, aside from the obvious, that you can't wear most shades of red . . ."

"I didn't choose my hair," she grumbled.  "If I could have, I'd have had Ma's hair—long, straight golden hair."

"At least you stand out in a crowd," he added for good measure.

She snorted.  "You're such an ass," she muttered.

He chuckled again when she tried to scoot farther away, catching her around the waist and pulling her over against his side.  "I happen to like your hair," he told her.  "I was just teasing you."

She pushed against him, but he only tightened his arm around her, enjoying the way the heat of her body permeated the fabric under his hand, resting on her hip.  "I'll just go sleep on the sofa so my offensive hair is as far away from you as it can be," she pouted.

He squeezed her hip, which effectively stilled her objections—and made her suck in her breath, too.  "Oh, look, the nerdy boy just got killed.  Why are they eating his brain?  They're not zombies . . ."

"Kind of like zombies," she countered, resting her cheek against his chest.  "I mean, they were raised from the dead . . ."

He snorted.  "So, they're not only demons, but they're zombies, too.  The writers of this one should have studied their supernatural lore better.  One or the other . . ."

She rolled her eyes.  "And why can't they be zombies, I ask you?"

"Because everyone knows that hell demons are spirits used to possess the living while zombies are dead bodies that have been re-animated, and that the zombies require brains in order to keep their own from decomposing to the point that they cannot function on the basest of levels."

She turned to scowl at him.  "You've studied this, I take it?"

He shrugged.  "Nope.  It's basic common sense.   So, you see?  There's no possible way to have a demon that is also a zombie, too."

"See, this is the problem with watching movies with someone who is too entirely based in reality," she complained.  He started to say something else, but she reached up, covering his mouth with her hand.  "Quiet!  It's getting to the good part."

He pulled her hand away when the demons rather grotesquely opted to gut someone from lips to navel.  "This is disgusting," he grumbled.

"What's the matter, Ashur?  Are you going to have nightmares?" she teased.

"I only have nightmares about real life," he said, frowning, hating the truth in his words.  He didn't have them often anymore, but three years ago, they'd been a frequent enough occurrence.  They were always the same, too: laying there on the floor, helpless, unable to do anything at all as he'd watched his mother being ripped to shreds . . .

"What kind of nightmares?" she asked, her tone a little too cautiously casual.

He sighed.  "Just . . . things," he remarked.  "Things that . . . that I know in my head that I couldn't do anything about, but . . . but I can't ever shake the feeling that I . . . I _should_ have . . ."

She sat up, turned to face him, her hands still resting on his chest, on his shoulder.  "Sometimes I think that, if I'd have just gone with Ma . . . I mean, it doesn't make sense.  If I had been . . . well . . ." She shook her head.  "I suppose I just think that maybe it . . . it wouldn't have happened . . ."

"If you had been with her, it still would have happened," he told her.  "The only difference would be that I . . . I wouldn't have met you."

She winced.  "Does that mean that if she'd lived, I wouldn't have met you then?"

Her question dug at him with a harsh accuracy.  "Maybe I would have," he told her.  "If you're meant to meet someone, then you will, right?  That's the kind of thing they say, anyway . . ."

Shifting her gaze upward, she scrunched up her features thoughtfully, squeezing one eye closed a she considered his statement.  "Well, I _do_ like Kells . . ." she allowed.

"Just Kells?"

She laughed.  "You're . . . tolerable."

He rolled his eyes and shot her a very chagrined look that she summarily ignored.  "I think I'll go to sleep now," he grumbled, scooting down on the bed and yanking his arm out from around her as he flopped over onto his side, set to ignore her for the duration.

' _Good God, you're pouting . . ._ '

' _I'm not pouting,_ ' he argued.  ' _I'm_ tolerable.'

' _You are pouting!  You realize just how pathetic you are, don't you?  I mean, she was joking.  You could tell from her tone that she was joking . . ._ '

Jessa giggled, grasping his arm and trying to tug him over onto his back.  "Okay," she relented, giving his arm yet another tug, "I like you, too—when you're not being a jerk, that is."

He heaved a longsuffering sigh designed to let her know exactly how put-upon he was as he rolled back over.  "Well, Kells is a lot cuter than I am, I guess," he allowed.

She nodded, her smile widening.  Suddenly, though, she sighed, too.  "I miss him," she admitted quietly.

"Kells?"

She nodded again.  "He rather grows on you . . ."

He shrugged.  "Kind of like a fungus, you mean?"

She gasped and quickly covered her mouth.  "No!" she insisted, casting him a chagrined sort of look.  "He's so sweet . . . and you're so mean."

Reaching out, catching a long lock of her hair, he idly twisted it around his finger.  "That's the problem," he remarked, watching as he wrapped the strand, only to let it spring back before repeating the process again.  "That child knows he's adorable, and he knows that most people let him get away with bloody murder because of it.  It's all just part of his diabolical plot to take over the world.  He's a little tyrant in training."

She rolled her eyes as she leaned over him to snag the bottle of wine off his nightstand.  "Ah, but he's your little tyrant . . . so, what does that make you?"

"It's my job to be immune to his trickery," he said, stifling a sigh and trying to fight off the bemusement caused by her leaning over him.  "He's been practicing his evil hoodoo since Day One, when he'd cry, just to sucker me into picking him up and holding him for hours at a time."

She giggled, setting the wine bottle aside as she brought her glass to her lips.  "Is that how they do it?"

He nodded.  "It's all a giant game of manipulation."  Sparing her a sidelong glance as another horror film queued on the television, he narrowed his eyes in silent speculation.  "You were probably worse than Kells, come to think of it."

"Me?" she echoed, eyebrows raising in surprise.  "Why me?"

He almost smiled—almost.  "Because you're much prettier than Kells will ever be, so I imagine that means that you must have been a fairly beautiful child, too—and that means that you probably got away with ridiculous amounts of manipulations, all levied against your unsuspecting parents . . . I'm right, aren't I?"

She snapped her mouth closed, rolled her eyes, but her giggle undermined the chagrined expression on her face.  Then she scooted off the bed, retrieving the leather knapsack that she'd arrived with.  Pulling out the photo album that she'd showed him before, she leafed through it until she found the image she wanted.  "There," she said, handing it over for his inspection.  "I was about Kells' age in that picture."

He leaned up on an elbow and studied the image.  Unmistakably her, he supposed—crazy-wild hair that spilled around her in those glossy, loose curls . . . The tiny girl with the frank and candid expression on her cherubic little face, skin as white and smooth as alabaster, Cupid's bow mouth a startlingly deep cherry red, and even that young, she already had those long, long eyelashes—eyelashes so lush, so thick and dark that it only added to the illusion that she was some kind of porcelain doll, somehow magically brought to life . . .

"Yep, nothing but trouble, even as a child," he muttered.

She laughed and stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, set her empty glass aside so that she could scoot down, curling up on her side, hands tucked beneath her cheek like a little girl.  "Ashur?"

"Hmm?" he intoned without looking away from the picture.

"Thank you," she said.

He glanced at her with a confused little frown.  "What for?"

She smiled slowly, her eyelids drooping as sleep closed in on her.  "Today was one of the best days of my life," she told him.

He leaned in, kissed her forehead.  "Go to sleep, Jessa . . . and you're welcome."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _She was hell on wheels, I just know it_ …


	24. Gender Wars

"So, who's that guy in the super-secret-stealth-club meeting with Ashur?" Carol asked as she and Jessa wandered along the borders of the estate, leading the horses along.  She'd called Devlin just after they'd picked up Carol from the airport to ask if she could borrow Flicker for a nice, long ride, and did he want to come along.  Unfortunately, he'd told her that he had taken his mother shopping for the day, but that they were welcome to take the horse.  Then he'd called his master of stables so he could get Flicker ready, and then he'd even brought her over for the day . . .

Carol, it seemed, was familiar with basic riding.  She said that one of her neighbors back home had horses, and, as a child, she'd often gone over there to see them.  That neighbor had taught her the basics, and for a casual individual, it was good enough.

It had been a complete and utter surprise to her when they'd gone to the airport after checking out of the hotel.  She'd just figured that they were picking up someone to see him, so when they'd pulled up to the pickup area, she'd nearly shrieked when she spotted Carol.

Jessa shrugged as Stardust bumped her shoulder with his nose, asking for a snack, she supposed, and she dug a bit of carrot out of her hip bag and broke it in half, handing the other half to Carol.  "I have no idea," she admitted.

Carol glanced at her as Flicker ate the carrot out of her hand.  "He looked a little shady . . . Does he always have these weird guys wandering into and out of the house?"

She shook her head.  "No . . . Actually, he's the first one I've seen, other than Mr. Margreave, who's the one that brought Stardust over yesterday . . ."

Carol nodded slowly.  "Okay, then," she allowed.  "As long as he's not in the habit of parading strange men around all the time because that would be a little bizarre, don't you think?"

Jessa bit her lip.  Considering Ashur's job, it wasn't surprising to have people who wanted to meet with him, but she couldn't rightfully explain that to Carol, either, given that Carol was human and, therefore, knew nothing of youkai.

Luckily for her, Carol's mind had already shifted off into another direction entirely.  "Oh, but tell me about that stable guy of yours," she prompted.  "Do you know anything about him?"

"I don't," Jessa admitted.  "I mean, he just arrived yesterday with Stardust.  He's actually in Mr. Margreave's employ.  He's only here to see to Stardust while we keep him for Mr. Margreave . . . But I do know that his name is Laith."

Slapping the reins against her thigh absently, Carol nodded.  "Laith?  Hmm, I like that . . ."

Jessa laughed.  "Are you going to go get to know him?"

Carol sighed, tucking her long blonde hair behind her ear.  "Well, I'm here visiting you, so that'd be in pretty poor taste," she said.  "A damn shame, though, if you ask me."

"Hmm, I don't think I'd mind if you wanted to spend a bit of time in the stables," Jessa admitted.  "I mean, he _is_ pretty good-looking . . . Then again, if you're after, 'good-looking', you really need to meet Devlin.  He's prettier than Ashur—maybe."

"Is that even possible?" Carol countered.

Jessa laughed.  "Oh, it's possible . . . I'll have to see what he's doing tomorrow.  Maybe he can join us on a ride . . ."

"Ashur doesn't ride?"

"Uh . . . Not really," she admitted.  "We stopped and rented horses on the way up here to look at properties," she said.  "I told you about that, didn't I?"

"Oh, yeah . . . And he hated it.  I remember . . . That was the first time you kissed him, right?"

She cleared her throat, unable to staunch the color that flowed under her skin. "Oh, uh . . . That . . . Yes, well . . ."

Carol snorted but giggled.  "All right, so spill it.  What _exactly_ is going on with you and Ashur?"

Jessa shrugged, tried to affect a nonchalant air.  "Nothing," she replied.  "I mean, not really . . ."

She could feel Carol's gaze on her, but she didn't turn to look.  "Nothing really?" she repeated.  "You're lying, Jessa . . . I mean, you already kissed the guy a few times, right?  So, truth!"

"There's . . . There's not," she insisted.  "Just because we've kissed doesn't mean anything, and . . ." She grimaced.  "And he's so stuck on my age that I doubt anything _will_ happen."

"No . . . I've seen the way that man looks at you, Jessa.  There's something there.  You just have to convince him that age doesn't matter, that's all."

She snorted and shook her head.  "Easy for you to say," she muttered.  "I'm not good at the whole, 'simpering girl' act.  It'd never work."

Carol considered that for a moment then reached over, giving Jessa's arm a reassuring little squeeze.  "You like him, don't you?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to deny it, but it wouldn't do any good.  Carol was nothing if not entirely too perceptive, and besides, maybe having someone else's opinion on the matter would help some . . . "I . . . guess . . ."

"You guess?" she echoed.  "You do, right?  I mean, I don't want to push you to do something if he's just a casual interest to you."

She made a face, lifting a hand in an almost futile sort of gesture.  "Okay, I  . . . I do," she admitted, unable to staunch the blush that rose in her cheeks.

Carol laughed.  "Well, you've got excellent taste, Jess, just so you know."

She rubbed her forehead.  "Like I said, though, we've only kissed a few times, and then he reminds me how old I'm _not_ . . ." She sighed.  "Even last night when we rented that room for the dinner cruise . . ."

"What room?  Like a hotel?"

She nodded.  "But that was kind of my fault.  I mean, I sort of teased him into it—do something fun and all that—and in order to take the dinner cruise, you had to book a room because it was an overnight thing . . ."

"And you guys stayed in the same room?"

Jessa made a face, shifting her lips to the side as she shrugged.  "Yes."

"And . . .?"

"And we watched a movie, then fell asleep."

Carol sighed.  "Seriously?  Wow . . ."

"I . . . I don't know how to . . . to quirk his interest," she admitted quietly, almost angrily, as she scowled at the path below her feet.  It was the God's honest truth, though.  She'd never given it much thought before, never really considered it.  Somehow, all those men she'd met at the parties and the dinners hadn't done a thing to make any kind of impression on her, one way or another.  It was an odd thing, really, something she hadn't really bothered to ponder until now.  What was it about Ashur that made him so different?  She really wasn't sure . . . "I've never tried before . . ."

Carol laughed.  "No, I'd guess you haven't had to," she murmured.  She seemed to be considering Jessa's dilemma.  "What were you doing before when he kissed you?  Do you remember anything specific?  I mean, if he kissed you spontaneously before, then I'd say just do whatever it was that sparked his interest the first time."

Jessa made a face.  "The first time, I don't know.  The second, I was coming out of the bathroom after my shower . . . in a towel . . ."

Carol barked out a guffaw of laughter.  "Well, that would do it, then!" she agreed.  "Just run around in a towel, and—"

"Carol!" she grumbled.

"Okay, okay!" Carol relented, despite the very wide smile still on her face.  "It really shouldn't be that hard, Jessa.  I mean, look at you . . ."

She snorted.  "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Now, now," Carol said.  "Nothing bad, you know.  It's just that you're . . . well, you're gorgeous!  Just flirt with him . . . Touch him when you're near him.  Make sure you always make eye contact . . . Maybe we should make a recording of your voice and stick it under his pillow, so when he's sleeping—"

"Be serious!" Jessa laughed.

Carol giggled, too.  "Okay," she agreed.  "Seriously, though, it's not that difficult.  All you have to do is to make sure that he sees you all the time—really sees you—sees you as a woman and not as a little girl."

"Sees me as a woman," Jessa echoed thoughtfully.  "I . . . I think I can do that . . ."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Stepping out of the house onto the terrace as he breathed deep, savoring the freshness in the air, Ashur closed his eyes, let the crisp breeze soothe him.  After having spent the bulk of the afternoon since they'd arrived home, closed in his office with one of the stuffiest youkai he'd ever met—worse than many of Hidekea's associates on their best days, actually, who wanted nothing more than to ramble on and on about the good old days, _ad nauseam_.

The old loon, Heath Dreyfuss had offered to hold a ball to welcome Canada's newest general, which wasn't exactly something that had interested Ashur—until Dreyfuss had gone on to explain that it might be a good way to get all those introductions out of the way in one fell swoop.  As it stood, he'd said he'd consider it, though he really wasn't at all sure that it was something he wanted to do, either.  Drawing that much public attention to himself?  No, he wasn't entirely certain that it was a good idea, at all . . .

It only took one of the dissidents that had sought to align themselves with Hidekea against Sesshoumaru  to see him, and they'd know exactly who he was, and, while he wasn't afraid of them, he'd like to keep his anonymity, too, and Jessa . . . Well, he didn't know for certain whether or not that Kingston guy still harbored thoughts of getting Jessa to marry his son, but something like a ball would most certainly draw a little more attention than either of them really needed . . .

' _Speaking of Jessa_ . . .'

His youkai-voice snorted.  ' _Check the pool, Kyouhei_.'

Shifting his gaze over toward the pool, Ashur stopped, blinked, stared when he spotted Jessa and Carol, standing on the pavement near the pool in their swimsuits and doing what appeared to be yoga . . . ' _Good God . . ._ '

His youkai heaved a sigh as the red-headed girl, on her hands and knees on the bright yellow mat, arched her back up, held it, then let it down—all in that damned black bikini . . . ' _Understatement of the year._ '

' _I need to destroy that thing . . . Buy her one of those old fashioned ones that looks like full-body-armor. . ._ '

' _There aren't any old bathing suits that look like full-body-armor, and even if there were, no._ '

Carol looked up from her yoga pose—whatever it was—and stood up.  "Ashur!" she called, running over to intercept him in her hot pink bikini that was vying for the title of skimpiest swimsuit against Jessa's.  "Just the man I wanted to see!"

Little alarm bells started clanging in his head, but against his better judgment, he slowly nodded instead of turning on his heel and walking away.  "Why?"

She laughed.  Sure, she was cute in a very American girl kind of way.  In fact, he might well have given her a second or third look if he hadn't met Jessa.  Too bad the Irish girl was entirely too striking . . . and too bewitching to credit . . . "Jessa and I were wondering if it'd be okay to borrow your car."

"Borrow my car?  Can she even drive?"

Carol rolled her eyes.  "I don't know; she didn't say.  I, however, am a fully licensed driver with a perfect driving record."

He snorted.  "You're also from New York City where most people don't have cars."

She didn't refute his logic.  "Anyway, how 'bout it?"

"And just why do you want to borrow it?  What are you plotting?"

Carol laughed again.  "You're so suspicious!  Why is that?"

"Answer the question."

She heaved a sigh.  "Laith was telling us about this really fantastic dance club, and he offered to take us there, but he doesn't have a car since you're just borrowing him, and we need a way to get there."

Ashur frowned.  "Who's Laith?"

Carol stared at him for a long moment.  "You don't know who's in your stable?"

"Oh, him . . . You're going to a dance club with him?"  He chuckled.  "Yeah, no, you're not."

"We're not?"

Ashur rolled his eyes.  "Well, you can, but Jessa can't."

"What do you mean, she can't?"

"I would think that what I said was pretty straightforward," he replied.  "She's not going to a pub with some guy she barely knows.  No."

"She'll be with me," Carol argued.

He shook his head.  "Aren't you the same one who thought it would be a good idea for her to work in a strip club?"

"You'd have a valid point if she had stripped, which she never did, so your argument doesn't hold up, sorry."  She sighed when he arched and eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest.  "Well, then, you could come along if it would make you feel better."  She mirrored his stance, affected an exaggerated scowl.  "Does it bother you that much?"

"Does what bother me?"

She shrugged and smiled, but her smile greatly resembled that of Disney's version of the Cheshire Cat.  "That Jessa wants to go dancing?"

He snorted.  "I don't know what you're talking about, she-devil."

Carol's grin widened.  "Does it bother you that she wants to go dancing, or that she might end up dancing with a _man_ that isn't you. . .?"

He wasn't impressed with her suggestions.

Carol heaved a longsuffering sigh, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder as she leveled a deadly serious look at him.  "You know, Ashur, she might listen if you told her that  you didn't want her to dance with some random guy—especially if you told her why you don't want her to."

"And why don't I want her to?"

"Tell me you're not attracted to her," she challenged quietly.

"Is that really any of your business?" he parried.

She shrugged again.  "She's my friend, so . . .yeah, it is."

Ashur stared at her for a long moment before turning on his heel to head back into the house.

"So, about the car?" she called after him.

He gritted his teeth, but didn't stop walking.  "Be ready in an hour or forget it," he tossed over his shoulder.  On one level, he was somewhat glad that Jessa had a friend who wanted to be that protective of her.  On the other?

' _Look on the bright side.  It's just dancing.  I mean, how bad could it possibly be?_ '

He didn't trust himself to answer that.  Somehow, he just couldn't quite shake the feeling that the entire situation had 'disaster' written all over it.

In all capital letters.  In bold print.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** cutechick18
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _Why do I feel like this is a disaster, waiting to happen …?_


	25. Quiet

It was loud.  It was obnoxiously loud.  It was hideously, obnoxiously loud.

Lifting his gaze without moving his head, Ashur peered over at Jessa as she danced with Carol and Laith near the edge of the dance floor.  She'd been garnering appreciative looks all night, which just figured, but, given the tiny black mini-skirt that barely brushed mid-thigh and the dark purple cotton blouse that kept falling off of one shoulder or the other, it wasn't entirely surprising, even if it was ridiculously annoying, too . . . Carol was receiving her fair share of attention, as well, but to be brutally honest, Ashur really didn't care about that.  As far as he was concerned, the she-devil was on her own.

"Here you go."

Ashur blinked and glanced up at the waitress as she set a glass of whiskey on the table before him.  "I didn't order this," he said, pushing it toward her again.

The woman laughed.  "You didn't," she agreed easily enough.  Then she pointed at a table off to the right where a couple of ladies sat.  When they saw him look their direction, they wiggled their fingers in a jaunty wave.  He nodded once before turning his attention back to the waitress once more.  "Thanks, but I'll pass," he said, pasting on what he hoped was an indulgent smile and not a grimace that might look more like he was considering the eating of someone's spleen . . .

"Don't worry about it," she told him.  "Happens all the time, and we'd just have to dump it back there, anyway.  Might as well enjoy it," she said with a quick wink as she hurried away.

Ashur heaved a sigh.

"Hi . . . I hope you don't think I was being too forward," one of the ladies—a petite but lovely brunette—from the table that had sent over the drink said as she offered him a rather shy smile.  She was pretty, sure . . . She simply wasn't Jessa . . .

"Oh, uh . . . Thanks, but I'm the designated driver," he said, which was true enough, as far as he was concerned.

She grimaced.  "I'm so sorry . . . I thought you were here alone . . ."

"It's fine," he assured her.

She stared at him for a long moment, her dark eyes catching the strobe lights over the dance floor: first pink, then red, then as the colors cycled, rendering everything fairly garish hues.  "I'm Sonya," she said, sticking out her hand in greeting.

He took it and gave a brief shake before letting go once more.  "Ashur," he replied, leaning slightly to the side as he glanced over at the dancing trio once more.

"Are you new to the area?"

"Yes, I suppose I am," he allowed, affecting another tepid smile.

She nodded.  "I moved here a few years ago and love it . . . There's really no place like it, anywhere else.  Do you know your way around?  I mean, when I first got here, I spent weeks, just seeking out all those awesome little places that they don't mark on tour maps.  If you're ever wanting someone to show you around . . ."

Stifling the desire to sigh, Ashur shook his head.  "I'm sorry, Sonya," he said, hoping that his own impatience wasn't evident in his tone.  "That's very kind of you, but I think I'm pretty good."

She looked very obviously crestfallen, and he winced inwardly when the poor woman blushed crimson.  "Oh, I . . . I wasn't trying to come on to you or . . . Well, maybe a little," she confessed.

"I'm flattered," he told her, managing a wry smile for her benefit.  "I really am, but, uh . . ."

Following the direction of his gaze, she breathed out a tiny, 'oh' when she spotted Jessa's crazy-wild hair.  She stared at the girl for a long moment before turning back to face Ashur once more.  "I'm so sorry," she muttered, pasting on a bright smile despite the lingering tightness around the corners of her eyes.  "It was nice meeting you, Ashur."

He nodded and stood.  "Likewise," he replied.  The woman hurried away, and he sat back down, wondering vaguely what the odds were that he could convince the girls that they were ready to go home now . . .

The pounding song finally ended, much to Ashur's relief.  The next one was just as obnoxious, but in a wholly different way, fully of high pitched instrumental squeals and otherwise ear-piercing rhetoric.

Jessa stepped away from Carol and Laith and sauntered over toward him, ignoring the men who tried to call out to her—whether she could hear them or not over the general din of the club was irrelevant.  Watching as that little flirt of a skirt swayed provocatively with every step she took, he ground his teeth together at the bitter and almost violent surge of misplaced possessiveness crashed over him.

"Are you just going to sit there all night, scowling at everyone who looks in your general direction?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she leaned against the high table, smiling in a teasing kind of way.

"Thinking about it," he replied, only half-joking.  "You had your fill of dancing?  If you can even call it that," he grumbled, jerking his head at a couple on the floor that looked more like they were ready to have at it, never mind that they were completely surrounded by perfect strangers.

She stared at him for another long moment before reaching out, gently rubbing away the scowl lines between his brows.  "Won't you dance with me?" she asked.

He snorted.  "I'll pass, thanks."

She sighed, grabbing the glass of whiskey and downing it fast, only to make a face as the liquor burned its way into her belly.  "Can't dance, huh?"

Again, he snorted.  "I could if I had a mind to," he assured her.  "Like I said, when they actually start dancing, then I might consider it."

Rolling her eyes, she straightened up, tugged on his hand.  "Come on," she coaxed, pulling on his hand until he finally stood.  "That's better . . . I can't dance with them anymore," she explained as she dragged him away from the table and toward the smoky tiled dance floor.  "Carol likes him—a lot."

"Poor bastard," Ashur muttered.

She shot him a chagrined look, interrupted only by her smile.  "I like her," she informed him, slipping her arms up around his neck as her body swayed in time with the music—a slower song with a heavy, thick beat.  "She's the first real friend I've ever had," she admitted.

"Is that right?" he asked, unsure if he was more surprised or irritated that she didn't have any other actual friends.

"On the whole, girls are horrible beings," she went on, almost philosophically.  "The girls at my boarding school were terrible little hags . . . They were only friends with other girls who were as mean and nasty as they were . . . Always picking, always belittling . . . and I never really understood why."

It made perfect sense to Ashur.  Considering just how stunning the girl was?  And he'd seen pictures enough to know that it wasn't a recent development, either.  Females, he'd found over time, had a tendency to show their insecurities in themselves by projecting them onto someone else, and a girl like her?  She was likely the personification of everything that most of them would never be, so they'd done what came naturally: they tried to break her down . . . "Because you're a beautiful woman, Jessa—dead damn gorgeous, actually.  They were jealous.  It happens."

She froze, mid step, and stared up at him, her eyes wide, solemn, as she gazed at him without blinking.  He wasn't sure if the color in her cheeks was due to the whiskey or what he'd said.  "You . . . You think . . .?"

He rolled his eyes but chuckled.  "I'd have to be blind not to have noticed," he told her.  "Tell me you didn't know just how beautiful you are . . ."

She giggled almost nervously.  "It doesn't count when it's your da saying so," she allowed.  Suddenly, she bit her lip and tilted her head to the side.  "Do you want to get out of here for a bit?  Go for a walk or something?"

He stared at her for a second, then nodded.  She finally smiled and stepped away, grasping his hand in hers again as she wove her way through the crowded dance floor to find Carol.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The night was mild, almost balmy, but not quite warm enough for that.  Jessa could feel the moisture in the air, condensing on her skin.  Ashur strolled along beside her, hands in his pockets, a thoughtful scowl on his face.  She had to wonder if he had always worn that sort of expression.  Somehow, he didn't really seem the type to wallow in his own thoughts or musings, though.  Again, it struck her, as it had before, that there was something underneath it all, but he held onto it so tightly . . .

"So," she said, breaking the silence that had prevailed since they'd told Carol that they were going for a walk and slipped out of the club, "you don't like dancing . . . Tell me what you do enjoy doing?"

He sighed.  "Nothing, actually."

"Nothing?" she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest as she slowly shook her head.  "Nothing at all?  Camping?  Fishing?  Collecting stamps?"

Chuckling softly, he pulled a hand free to stop her.  "No, I meant, I enjoy doing nothing."

"How do you do nothing?" she countered.

He shrugged.  "Well, for starters, you wake up in the morning without a three year old kicking you in the face—or other areas."

"As nice as that sounds," she said, "surely you have other interests."

"Not really," he replied with an nonchalant shrug.  "I wasn't really brought up to have hobbies."

She frowned at his admission.  "What do you mean?  When you were a child, you had to have things that you enjoyed doing?"

"It was a vastly different world back then," he told her.  "I spent my childhood training and working on whatever tasks my father set for me, and when I wasn't doing those things, I found other ways to try to live up to their mighty expectations."

Something about his tone, his words . . . There was a sadness there, but there was also a quiet level of bitterness, too.  "Didn't you ever do anything that you enjoyed?  What about your family?  Did you do things with them?"

He chuckled, but the sound was dry, devoid of humor and full of a certain irony.  "No, I didn't."

His answers made her sad, didn't they?  When she thought back about her own childhood, there were so many memories, so many moments of happiness, that it was hard to imagine that he didn't have even one of those, and yet, it wasn't so much what he said or didn't say, it was the look on his face, the expression in his eyes . . . He really, honestly, didn't have those at all . . . "It sounds like they let you down," she said, frowning at him.

"If you live long enough, everyone lets you down eventually."

"That is an entirely pessimistic outlook on things," Jessa replied softly.

He shrugged, stopping, leaning against the railing as he stared out over the ever-moving water—black in the darkness of the night despite the reflections of a myriad of city lights, dancing on the lazy waves.  "Maybe.  It's also entirely true."

She turned around, leaned back against the railing, bent arms sticking out behind her, forearms propped on the rail.  "And you really think that everyone is destined to disappoint you?  Do you . . .?  Do you think I will, too?"

He shifted his gaze, stared at her out of the corner of his eyes.  Silhouetted in the moonlight, the cold, blue-white haze that touched the contours of him lent him a mystery, a seemingly unreachable distance, even though he was standing right beside her.  In those moments, a sudden, vicious stab of loneliness shot through her.  It was a melancholy desperation, an isolation that hurt, deep down in places that no one would ever see, that no one but she would ever feel . . .

And yet, she wanted to know those things about him, wanted to know why he had that look in his eyes, that lingering sense of darkness.  She wanted to know everything about him, to the point of distraction.  Too bad she knew that he wasn't going to give up those secrets, not without a fight . . .

He sighed, gaze slipping back to the water once more, reflecting the twinkling lights of the city as the brightness pooled in his eyes, making the shadows just a little deeper, a little darker, a little farther away . . . "You have to understand," he began quietly, almost a whisper that she might have missed were she human and not youkai.  "It's not that I think you'd . . ." Trailing off, he grimaced, grasping the rail tight in his hands, arms straight, muscles taut, shoulders raised slightly, chin hanging a little lower . . . "But I . . . I didn't think _she'd_ ever . . . But she did, and . . ."

Frowning at Ashur's half-answer, at the questions that his words brought to mind, Jessa bit her lip, leaned back slightly to get a better look at his face, at the strange sense of foreboding that lingered in his eyes, in his stance.  "Who is she?"

"Hana," he replied, as though it were the simplest and somehow the most complicated thing in the world, and maybe to him, it was.  "She . . . She was my best friend since childhood, I guess.  But she . . . and I . . ."  He shook his head.  "I can't forgive her . . . What she did . . . It . . . It killed a part of me, I guess . . ."

"The part of you that wants to trust someone else," she murmured.

He nodded slowly.  "Something like that."

"Was she really much of a friend if she hurt you that badly?" she asked, careful to keep her tone as neutral as she could.

"It wasn't like that.  I mean, it wasn't her intention, and I can understand that, but  . . ." Trailing off with a frustrated sigh, he suddenly shook his head.  "It's in the past, and that's where it should stay," he finally said.  "Suffice it to say that I . . . _probably_ . . . have some trust issues."

A strange sense of anger shot to life in the pit of her stomach—anger at this unknown woman who had hurt him so profoundly.  It irritated her—and it made her sad, too.  His kind of answers only served to bring more questions to mind, and she knew deep down that if she pressed him for more, he'd pull just that much farther away from her, too.

She sighed, figuring she ought to simply change the topic before she ended up, alienating him entirely . . . "You know, toward the end, I was always so angry at my ma," she confessed.  "It was her sudden fixation on having me find my mate, I guess . . . or not even that.  More than once, she said that I should find someone, 'who would suit', like it didn't matter if I loved him or not . . . Looking back on it, I wonder, though . . . I mean, some people say that their loved ones would suddenly become fixated on certain things, like . . . like they knew that they wouldn't be around much longer, and they feel this unconscious desire to see everything settled before they . . . they die . . ."  Swallowing hard to choke down the rising lump in her throat, Jessa shrugged a little pathetically, gaze dropping to her crossed arms.  "I wonder if that's why . . ."

"Maybe she simply wanted you to be happy."

She dragged the length of her hair over her shoulder, idly twisting it around and around and around.  "If I could speak to her one last time, I'd . . . I'd tell her that I was sorry I fought with her so much . . . that I . . . that I love her . . ."

He sighed as she sniffled, as she struggled to fight back the tears that stung her eyelids, that tingled in her nose, pulling her over against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat, steady and strong and entirely comforting.  "It's okay to cry for someone you miss," he told her gently.

She shook her head, squeezed her eyes closed, even as two fat tears escaped, slipping down her cheeks as she leaned back, smashed her hands over her face.  "I hate crying," she muttered, her voice muffled by her hands.  "It's so . . . so weak and pathetic and—"

"It isn't," he countered, hugging her tight again.  "My father said that before, too . . . but he said a lot of things that weren't true . . . You're not a weak woman, Jessa, and crying won't make you one, either."

Pushing against his chest, she looked up at him, and just for a moment, she didn't try to mask the emotions that she usually tried so hard to keep buried.  All the pain, all the misery, all the loneliness—even the fear that she despised . . . and she laid it bare for him to see, willing him to understand.

He lifted a hand, brushed the back of his knuckles over her cheek, wiping away the tears that had fallen despite her efforts to stop them.  Then he sighed, pulling her close again, kissing her forehead as he stared over her head at the moon . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
>  _** — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
>  _** Athena_Evarinya ——— monsterkittie ——— Amanda Gauger ——— minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
>  _** Nate Grey ——— lovethedogs ——— lianned88
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :
> 
>  _That dance club sucks_.


	26. Mayhem

"Good morning!"

Hanging the hammer on the railing, Laith reached out to accept the steaming cup of coffee that Carol held out to him as she wandered through the dew-covered grass.  "Thanks."

She smiled at him, leaning in close, looking over his handiwork.  "Put you to work, did they?"

"Nah," he replied as he sipped the coffee.  "Figured while I was here, I'd inspect the fences and stuff . . . Either that or sit around, being bored as hell."

She laughed, tucking a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear.  "I like a man who stays busy," she said, offering him a thick sausage patty with a fried egg tucked into a huge croissant.  "There's fruit and stuff in there, too, if you want some.  I figured a strapping guy like you would prefer meat for breakfast . . ."

"Thanks," he said as he took the sandwich, too.  "I had a stale doughnut and about a pot of really bad coffee already."

She made a face.  "Don't they feed you?"

He shrugged, chewing up about a third of the sandwich in one bite.  "I haven't been here long enough for that to be an issue.  Just got here the day before you did, as a matter of fact.  Figured I'd go find a grocery sometime later on today."

"Do you have a car?"

"The truck," he said, waving his hand toward the stables, indicating the truck hooked to the horse trailer as he polished off the sandwich and grabbed the hammer again.  For the most part, the fencing was good, solid.  He was just reinforcing any of the beams that felt a little more wobbly than he liked.

She nodded slowly.  "Are you from around here?"

"Right now, I work for the Margreaves, and they live up close to Pont-Rouge.  Before that?  Here and there, I guess . . ."

"Okay . . . but where are you originally from?  Where did you grow up?"

He grinned, misty green eyes—a strange kind of color that wasn't quite green and wasn't quite gray, either—sparkling with his amusement.  "Oh, come on, can't some things about me remain a mystery?"

"You mean, you don't want to tell me?" she pouted despite the smile on her face.

He heaved a sigh to let her know just what he thought of her overall impatience.  His chuckle ruined the illusion, though.  "Originally, I'm from a little further down south."

She nodded, smiling as she turned to lean on the fence, staring out over the estate in a slow, sweeping kind of way.  " . . . What on earth are those two doing . . .?"

Straightening up from his task of checking the fencing that enclosed the southern paddock, Laith glanced at Carol, who was watching Jessa and Ashur, who appeared to be having some sort of weird fight going on.

"Uh," he drawled, tipping back his Stetson as he narrowed his gaze at the two.  "Looks like they're training," he replied in a tone that indicated that Carol ought to have known that well enough.

"Training?" she echoed, glancing quickly at him before turning her attention back on Jessa and Ashur once more.  She grimaced as Jessa caught Ashur by the hand and managed to flip him  over.  He landed hard on his back, but rolled to his feet, just out of her reach.  "Do they do this kind of thing a lot?"

Laith shrugged off-handedly.  "Dunno," he replied.  "It kind of looks like it, though."

Carol digested that in silence.  "There's something there, though, don't you think?"

He didn't smile, but it was a close thing.  "Where?  Between those two?"

She nodded.  "Yeah . . . I mean, there _is_ , right?  I'm not just imagining it?"

He shrugged again, leaning against the fence beside her.  "I make it my business to stay out of other people's business," he told her.  "Maybe you should, too."

She wrinkled her nose at him and rolled her eyes.  "Are you kidding?  That girl's so . . . so sheltered that she doesn't have a clue, and if I leave her up to her own devices, she'll never, ever get that man into her bed."

Unfortunately, Laith had just taken a huge swig of the coffee, and he choked on it, sputtering out a few sprays as he tried to swallow and not die.  "Definitely need to mind your own business, girly," he muttered, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

She laughed.  "Oh, please!  She's a virgin—I mean, she didn't tell me that, but I can tell—and her first time needs to be memorable.  I have a feeling that _that_ man could definitely make it memorable for her."

"You're just a little too preoccupied with Jessa's sex life," he told her.  "Ain't gonna lie, it's a little creepy . . ."

Carol laughed again.  "It's how women's minds work," she countered, waving off his cryptic commentary with a flick of her wrist.  "It's for her own good.  You'll see."

His answer was a very skeptical grunt.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa poked her head into Ashur's office, biting her lip as she watched him read through something on the computer.  She couldn't see the screen, but she could easily see the scowl on his face as he clicked the mouse a few times.  Ponytail falling over his shoulder, bangs hiding part of his face, he leaned back in his chair, resting his elbow on the desk and propping his head on his hand.

She'd taken a long, hot shower after training since Carol had run into Quebec City with Laith.  Carol had insisted that she needed to pick up a few things, and she'd asked Jessa to come along.  Jessa, however, had opted not to go since she thought that maybe it'd be nice to allow Carol to have some impromptu alone time with the stable hand, especially since she was leaving to go back to New York City in the morning.

The shower had done the trick, though, relaxing her more than she'd been in quite some time.  Then she'd put on a yellow cotton sundress in the hopes that it would reinforce her good mood, too.

"So, how long are you planning on just standing there, staring at me?" Ashur asked, his tone inordinately dry, without looking up from whatever he was reading.

She laughed softly.  "Does it bother you?"

"Not really.  I'm used to it.  Kells loves to do it, too."

"Speaking of Kells," she said, shoving her shoulder against the door frame as she slipped into the office and settled on the edge of one of the chairs facing him, "I miss him."

That made him look up, and he seemed a little surprised by her admission.  "You do?"

She nodded.  "Of course, I do . . . I don't suppose you've gotten any more cute pictures of him . . .?"

"Uh, yes, I did," he said, reaching for his phone.  He fiddled with it for a few seconds, and a moment later, her phone chimed.

There were five pictures that he'd forwarded.  The first one was of Kells, sleeping on Ben's lap, curled against his shoulder.  The boy looked so angelic that it was hard to reconcile him as the same child that bounced off the walls quite literally most of the time.  The other four were various action shots: Kells fishing with Bas and Ben and some other men she hadn't met, Kells sparring with Bailey with his little wooden sword, Kells roasting marshmallows over the fire with Nadia and Emmeline on either side of him, Kells, hanging upside down from a low tree branch . . .

Jessa laughed and scrolled through the pictures a few times, even though the sight of him set off a dull ache deep inside.  She missed that child more than she'd thought possible, and she sighed.

"Sighing?  Surely you can't miss the little tyrant that much," Ashur teased.

To her absolute horror, her eyes misted over, and she furiously tried to blink away the misplaced tears.  After all, he'd be home in a couple weeks . . .

"Uh . . . Do you want me to call Ben and have him bring him back?"

"No," Jessa muttered, clearing her throat a few times  as she quickly shook her head.  "I mean, he's having so much fun, and he'll be home soon enough . . ."  She choked out a harsh laugh as she dashed a hand over her eyes.  "I don't even know why I'm crying, anyway . . ."

"Hmm . . . You do realize that the day you were hung over, he got it into his head that you're pregnant."

"Wh . . . _What?_ "

Ashur rolled his eyes.  "Blame it on that bastard caterpillar," he replied.

She didn't quite understand just what he meant, but she slowly shook her head, willing her cheeks not to redden.  A sudden thought occurred to her, and she groaned, long and low.  "Oh . . . He's not out there, telling them all that I'm pregnant, is he?"

Ashur grimaced.  "God, let's hope not," he replied.  "Let's hope that his ridiculously short attention span has knocked that idea out of his head."

Fiddling with the hem of her dress, she shrugged.  "I . . . don't think I miss him anymore."

Ashur laughed.  "I did explain to him that you're not pregnant," he assured her.  Somehow, though, it wasn't reassuring at all, not really.  "Of course, Kells doesn't always listen, so there's that . . . I figure that the odds that he's not going around, telling everyone you're pregnant is about . . . sixty-forty."

She heaved another sigh and yanked the scrunchie out of her hair to throw at him.  "You're terrible!"

He didn't deny it.  In fact, the odious cur laughed a little harder at that.

She stood up to stomp out of the study, but he called her back before she could make her haughty escape.  "Jessa . . ."

"What?" she snapped, stopping, but not turning to face him.

"I've been told that there's a very nice Irish pub in Quebec City if you'd like to go there for dinner.  The guy that told me about it said that they have dance performances every night, too."

The offer was enough to take the edge off of Jessa's temper.  "That . . . sounds nice . . ."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"So, you really asked Devlin, here, to kiss you just so you could compare it to Ashur's?" Carol began as the two of them sat on the boulder near the pond.  They'd gone out riding and had come across Devlin while he was out, doing the same.  The horses were currently tethered nearby, enjoying the picture-perfect afternoon.  He was duly impressed with Stardust, which was not at all surprising.  That horse was gorgeous in every single way, absolutely champion material, if she had a mind to show him.  She didn't, but he was most certainly a show-stopper.

Devlin, who was laying down in the grass, half-under the canopy of summer foliage, snorted loudly but didn't otherwise comment.

Jessa narrowed her eyes on her friend.  "I never should have told you about that . . ." she muttered, shaking her head and praying that the furious blush that she could feel wasn't nearly as noticeable on her skin as she figured it probably was.

Carol laughed.  "Relax, Jessa.  That's what girlfriends do!  Anyway, he is pretty nice-looking in an entirely feminine kind of way."

That earned her another loud snort from the subject of her statement, but he leaned up on his elbows to level an entirely bored look at the two of them.  "I do not look, 'feminine'," he stated flatly.

Carol slowly shook her head.  "Well, I hate to say it, Dev, but you kind of do—and by, 'kind of', I mean that you _totally_ do."  She cleared her throat and held up her hands.  "Sorry."

He sighed.  "I don't think I like your friend that much, Irish," he told Jessa, but despite the dryness of his tone, there was a heightened glint in his eyes that bespoke his very obvious amusement.  "And just for the record, I have very little control over my genetics."

"Does that mean you have a really pretty mom or a ridiculously pretty dad?" Carol went on.

"Actually, I look like Mum, or so I've been told," he replied, frowning at a small grass stain on the sleeve of his light blue shirt.

"Oh, I _need_ to see your mom, then," Carol quipped.

Devlin rolled his eyes, but chuckled as he rolled slightly to the side, far enough to dig out his cell phone before flopping back into his original position once more: knees bent, feet resting flat on the ground, leaning on one elbow while he used his other hand to scroll through the pictures stored on the device.  "There," he said, holding out the phone.  "That's my mum."

Carol got up and ran over to grab it.  "Oh, my God," she breathed, dark blue eyes flaring wide.  "She's hot!  How old was she in this?"

"That's one of the dresses she insisted that she simply had to have yesterday," he replied.

Jessa leaned over Carol's shoulder to look.  Not surprising, the woman didn't look any older than maybe her late twenties, so Carol's reaction wasn't at all unusual—and also not surprising, she was . . . Well, she was, as Carol had so blithely put it, she was _hot_.  Rich, brown hair like Devlin's—not a flat or mousy brown at all, no, one with a million different tones and highlights shot through it, just like his.  The same sapphire blue eyes . . . Even the shape of her face—her high cheekbones, her smooth jaw and full lips—all of it was reflected in her son's countenance, too.

"There's no way your mother looks like this!" she scoffed, shifting the phone to the side to narrow her gaze on Devlin.

He chuckled.  "Can't control her genetics, either," he replied very congenially.  Letting out a deep breath, he stood, taking back his phone as he smiled at them.  "I hate to cut this short, and it was very nice meeting you, Carol, but I have some things I have to do . . . I'll come 'round for the horse tomorrow."

Carol giggled as she watched Devlin untie his horse and set off through the trees.  "It's the accent," she decided with a very definite nod.  "Definitely the accent."

"Hmm, and I thought you had a certain fascination for Laith," Jessa teased.

She winked at Jessa and wandered over to untie Flicker.  "I do like him—a lot," Carol admitted with a heavy sigh.  "I hate the idea of having to go back home tomorrow . . ."

"Move up here."

She blinked and turned to stare at Jessa, narrowing her eyes when she realized that she was entirely serious.  "I don't have a job or anything up here," she said.  "I mean, I have nowhere to stay, and—"

"I'll ask Ashur," she replied.  "Maybe he wouldn't mind if you stayed here long enough to find a good job and rent a nice place."

"Jessa . . ."

"Just let me ask him.  What could it hurt?  If he says yes . . .?"

Carol slowly shook her head.  "I don't know, Jessa . . . I mean, I don't want to take advantage of him or you, and—"

"Let me ask him," she repeated.  "The worst he'd say is no, and I don't know if he would do that, even."

She wrinkled her nose as she swung onto Flicker.  "He doesn't really strike me as the benevolent type," she said.  "Besides, just because he's good enough to take you in doesn't mean he wants to do a repeat with me."

Jessa laughed as she mounted Stardust and nudged him to get him moving.  True, she really didn't have any idea, just what Ashur might say.  Even so, she still had to try, didn't she?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Settling back in the semi-private booth in the cozy little Irish pub appropriately named _O'Shaunessea's Ireland_ , Ashur wasn't entirely sure if it was a good thing that he'd asked Laith to come along or not.  After all, it wasn't really a business dinner, and, given that he was working in the stable, but not on Ashur's payroll, he figured that it wasn't a conflict of interest or anything. Besides, he had to admit he rather liked the man's no-nonsense attitude and solid work ethic.  Things like that, he could totally respect.

"Can you dance like that, Jessa?" Carol asked as they watched the Irish step dancers.

"Among others, yes," she replied.  "Should I teach you?"

Carol laughed.  "Not sure about that one," she admitted.  "That one looks . . . way too controlled for me."

They clapped when the performance ended, and the house lights came up while the dancers curtsied and moved off the stage.  The stereo system gradually raised in volume once more, though it did not overpower the pub.

Laith stood up and winked at Carol.  "Come on," he said, taking her hand and dragging her out of the booth and over toward the couple pool tables.

"Do you play pool?" Jessa asked, noticing that Ashur was watching the two.

"Can't say I ever have," he replied, waving at the waitress to bring another round of beers.

"Hmm . . . Kells and a pool table?  Probably a horrible combination, really," she decided.

He groaned.  For some reason, those two nouns in the same sentence was almost enough to send shivers of abject fear, right down his spine as very loud, very obnoxious alarm bells rang in his mind.

She laughed, biting her lip, looking entirely too thoughtful, given that they'd just had a very nice dinner.  And very good beer.

"All right," he said, frowning at her silence.  "What's on your mind, Jessa?"

She blinked and shot him a quick, almost nervous glance, and he arched an eyebrow in silent question.

"I was . . . just wondering something," she finally said, pulling her hair over her shoulder and twisting it with a vengeance.  He wanted to reach over and stop her.  He didn't.

"Okay?"

Licking her lips, she tried to smile, but didn't quite manage.  "Well, I was thinking . . . Carol mentioned something about moving up here, but if she did, she'd need a place to stay while she found a decent job and apartment . . ."

The Kells-inspired-alarm-bells tolled louder in his head.  "Hmm, why do I think I won't like where you're going with this?"

She laughed—an entirely pleasant sound that grated against his nerves, just the same, since he had a very good feeling as to where, exactly, she was headed with this particular conversation.

"Would it be possible for her to stay with us?  Just till she finds a job and an apartment?" she reiterated.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say no, but when he got a good look at the entirely too-hopeful expression on her face, he sighed instead.   "Can she stay in the stable house?" he asked, only half-joking.  The stable house was behind the stables and was where live-in stable hands would be housed.  In actuality, it was more like five little apartments, and they were all fully furnished and very nice, if not on the small side.

Jessa's expression brightened even more.  "Oh, that might be perfect," she allowed.  "I mean, she wouldn't be imposing if she had a small place of her own, now would she?  And then, she could just rent one of those, couldn't she?"

He opened his mouth to tell her that he was just joking, but snapped it closed before he could say as much.  Given that she really didn't have anyone else in her life aside from Kells and him, could he really deny her that?

' _You could, but that might well make you the world's biggest ass, too . . ._ '

Glancing over at the girl in question, Ashur slowly shook his head.  It wasn't that he didn't like Carol.  He thought that she was nice enough, even if she did have an overzealous mouth at times, but then, he couldn't really fault her for being protective of Jessa, either.  He tended to be that way, too, didn't he?  More, everyone she'd ever cared about had been taken from her already, and to deny her the only real friend she'd said she'd ever had?

He reached for the beer that the waitress had dropped off and stifled a sigh.

No, he didn't think he could do that; not to Jessa . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _Kill me.  Kill me now._


	27. Disturbance

Jessa watched in silence as Carol slowly looked around, arms crossed over her chest as she pondered the possibilities that she'd presented to her last night after they'd returned from the pub.

"And you're sure that Ashur's okay with this?" she asked for the twentieth time since Jessa had suggested that Carol look over the bunkhouse apartments.

Rolling her eyes since the answer to that question hadn't changed, Jessa nodded.  "Yes, he's fine with it," she assured her.  "He said that if you liked the apartment, you could stay here as long as you wanted to."

"I'd just pay him rent, then . . ." Carol concluded.   She opened and closed a few of the kitchen cabinets, nodding to herself in silent approval.  The apartments weren't big by any means, but they were definitely larger than Carol's apartment back in New York City.  They were all single bedroom units with a kitchen, living room, and a bathroom.  All were decent sized, just right for a single person or even a couple without children.

"Yes," Jessa replied, unable to hide the little smile that touched her lips.  "What do you think?"

Carol laughed, waving a delicate hand as she slowly turned around in a circle, taking in the sight of the apartment.  "I think I might like it here," she remarked.  "Providing I can find a decent job . . ."

"I'm sure you can," Jessa insisted.  "Besides, maybe you can get to know a certain stable hand a little bit better, too . . ."

"Ladies, it's time to get to the airport," Ashur said, stopping in the open doorway, casually tossing his keys into the air, only to catch them on the way down.

Carol sighed and reached for her purse that she'd left laying on the counter.  "You're sure you don't mind me staying here, Ashur?" she asked, leveling a no-nonsense look at him.

He shrugged.  "It's fine," he told her.  "Does that mean you've decided?"

She nodded slowly, sparing a moment to grin at Jessa.  "I think so," she allowed.  "I mean, I think I'll work a few more weeks, long enough to get some money saved back, but it shouldn't be hard to find someone willing to sublet my apartment."  She frowned thoughtfully.  "Maybe I should just sell most of my stuff.  I mean, it'll be kind of a pain to try to move everything."

Ashur stepped back to allow the girls to pass him before closing the door and securing the keypad lock.

"You could always mail some of your things," Jessa suggested as they headed for the car.  "That way,  you wouldn't have to worry about moving a lot of stuff."

"Good idea," Carol said.  "Oh, just a minute!  I wanted to say bye to Laith!"

She dashed away toward the stable.  Jessa laughed.  "Thank you," she said, casting Ashur a little smile.

He snorted indelicately.  "Let's just say that you owe me," he grumbled.

Her smile widened as she leaned a little closer to him.  "Oh?  And what do I owe you, Ashur?"

He narrowed his eyes a little as the barest hint of a smile quirked the corners of his lips, as the summer breeze tossed his bangs almost lovingly.  "I'll think of something," he assured her.

Something about the glow in his gaze, the lazy, almost caressing tone in his voice, was enough to send a very distinct, very delicious little tremor right through her, and she pressed a hand against her stomach to quell the racing butterflies that had fluttered to life.

"Jessa . . .?"

"Hmm?"

He chuckled very softly, very low in his throat as he leaned down to whisper in her ear, bringing the very scent of him close.  "You're blushing," he murmured.

She swallowed hard, turned her head to look at him.  "A-Am I . . .?"

He nodded, his gaze dropping to her lips for a painfully long moment before flicking up to meet her eyes, glowing with an intensity that he didn't try to hide.  "You are," he said.

For one long, dizzying second, she thought that he might kiss her as every synapse in her body coiled, tightened, anticipated, his lips hovering so very close to hers: close enough to feel the warmth of his breath ripple over her, feeling the balm, the heat that brought a weakness to her knees, a stuttering, stammering beat to the rhythm of her heart . . .

He was deliberately baiting her, teasing her, so very near, and yet . . . With a maddeningly slow sense of suspended reality, he reached up, stroke her cheek with the back of his knuckles, only to grasp her chin as he dragged the pad of his thumb lightly, gently, over her lips, barely touching her as the riot of shivers shot through her again . . .

"I'm ready," Carol said, darting over to intercept them.  She cleared her throat and giggled.  "Sorry for interrupting," she added.

"Right," Ashur murmured, dragging his eyes off of Jessa before taking a step back and straightening up once more.  "Let's go."

Jessa cleared her throat as her gaze fell to the ground beneath her feet as Carol grasped her arm and gave it a little squeeze.  "I'm totally sorry I messed up your moment," she whispered as the two of them fell into step behind Ashur.  "That was . . . _hot_ . . ."

Jessa made a face and waved a hand at her friend, who just giggled as they headed for the car.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa wandered through the house without an actual destination in mind, stopping to stare at paintings she'd already seen, to examine statues she'd already touched . . . As though she just couldn't quite find a way to occupy herself, she brushed aside the melancholy that had set in about the time they'd driven away from the airport terminal where they'd dropped off Carol for her return flight back to the city.

It was as if she simply couldn’t settle down, couldn't bring herself to do any of those things that she might normally do to relax.  Even the idea of taking Stardust out for a jaunt wasn't appealing, but she had no idea why.

She couldn't get her mind off that near-kiss from this morning.

It lingered in her head, no matter how many times she tried to shake it, to ignore it, and for some reason, the memory just grew stronger, a little more potent, every time she tried to cast it away . . . It was rather perverse, actually, if she stopped to think about that.

What was it about that man that could reduce her to nothing more than a puddle of raw nerves, anyway?  It wasn't right, not in the least.  It shouldn't be possible for him to be able to do what he did with a simple look, now should it?  Besides that, shouldn't she be able to affect him, too?

' _Is that what's got you all up in a snit?_ '

' _Oh, it's you.  And just what do you want?_ ' Jessa shot back dryly.

Her youkai-voice laughed.  ' _You know, maybe it's a good thing that he can get to you.  I mean, it'd be a damn shame if he couldn't, don't you think?_ '

She wasn't sure that deserved a reply, and she snorted.  ' _I don't think so.   Shouldn't he be at least slightly disconcerted?  It's not right, I tell you . . ._ '

' _And who's to say that he isn't?  You can't read his mind, you realize._ '

' _Like I'd need to be able to read his mind to know!_ ' she scoffed.  ' _I don't!  It's quite apparent.  He's in full control of his faculties all the time, blast him._ '

Her youkai sighed.  ' _Sometimes, you're such a child, Jessa.  I mean, really.  He's complex, you know.  He's not going to act like your average Joe, and that's why you like him, isn't it?_ '

She heaved a sigh as she wandered into the sun room—a room that no one used much, since it was back beyond the kitchen and tucked away into a calm little alcove of the house.  The entire space was little more than a construction of windows—so many that Jessa had to wonder just how warm it was in the winter time.  There were a couple of antique-looking settees off to the side, along with a few sparse plants arranged near the windows, and it struck her that it would probably be a fantastic place to sit and read.

She felt like she was existing in a state of limbo, never knowing from one day to the next, exactly where she stood in anything.  All in all, it was an ugly feeling, reminding her a little too well, just how precarious her entire situation really was.  She was entirely reliant upon Ashur, and, while he was nice enough to her, it didn't really offer her any true reassurance.  That savage feeling that she simply wasn't sure, where she stood in the grand scheme of things was frightening at best, downright terrifying at worst.

She hated times like this most of all, though: times when she really didn't know anything, aside from the unbidden feeling that she liked being here, liked being near Ashur and Kells.  But just how quickly could that all be taken away?

If she had access to her parents' accounts, that would change everything, she supposed.  Knowing that she was where she wanted to be as opposed to being where she had to would make a world of difference.  But then, if her inheritance did suddenly get worked out, just what would that truly mean for her?  Once it was all said and done, would Ashur just send her back to Ireland, no questions asked?

And then, that upheaval would come, all over again, and for some reason, Jessa couldn't help the feeling that this time . . . This time would be so much more difficult . . .

The sound of her cell phone cut into her musings, and she sighed as she dug it out of the pocket of her jean shorts.  It was a number she didn't know, but she bit her lip as she connected the call anyway.  "Hello?"

"Jessa!"

She laughed as her bleak mood suddenly snapped wide open.  "Kells!  How's your vacation?"

He sighed melodramatically.  "It's fun," he told her, sounding anything but overjoyed at the moment.  "I miss you and Daddy."

"Aww, I miss you, too, my lad," she replied.  "Tell me what you've been up to, you scamp?"

He giggled.  "We went to Funtown," he told her excitedly.  "Tomorrow, we're going to King's Island, but Uncle Ben said there weren't any kings, so it doesn't make sense."

She laughed, wishing that she could reach through the phone, wished that she could touch the child, to hold him and hug him and cuddle him . . . "Because Kings Island should have kings," she replied.  "I see.  But I'll bet it'll be fun.  Is it another amusement park?"

"Yeah!" Kells exclaimed.  "Uncle Ben said the woller coaster will make me puke!"

She made a face at Kells' statement, but giggled, just the same.  "Is that right?  That sounds like . . . um . . . fun?"

Kells laughed histerically, like something she'd said was highly humorous to him.  "Yeah!  'Cause puking's fun!"

Entirely gross.  And entirely amusing on some weird level, too . . . "You'll be fine, won't you?" she asked instead.

"Yeah . . . I gots to go now.  It's time for s'mores!"

"Okay, Kells.  Have fun, and I miss you."

"I miss you, too, Jessa," he said.  "And I miss Daddy . . ."

"I'll let him know," she assured him.

The connection cut off abruptly, and Jessa sighed.  She wasn't entirely sure what a, 's'more' was, but Kells seemed to be excited about them.

Sinking down on the edge of the nearest settee, Jessa stared at the phone in her hands.  Talking to Kells only served to remind her of just how much she missed him, and she sighed.

"There you are.  I was looking for you."

She glanced up as Ashur strode into the room with a marked frown on his face.  "Kells called," she said.  "He wanted me to tell you that he misses you."

He nodded.  "Kells called you?"

"Yes, why?"

He frowned.  "He didn't call me."

"Well, you could call him back, but he said that they were getting ready to have s'mores—whatever those are."

Ashur heaved a sigh.  "Oh, God . . . graham cracker, chocolate, and marshmallows, all melted together and . . . and kind of gross, actually . . ." He grimaced.  "I told them not to give him sugar . . ." Then he shrugged.  "Guess they'll figure it out in about an hour, give or take . . ."

She almost smiled, although, she herself was a bit intrigued by the description of the s'more.  "You were looking for me . . .?" she reminded him gently.

He blinked for a moment, as though he had completely forgotten whatever it was that he wanted to tell her.  Then he sighed, and the frown that he'd worn into the room resurfaced once more.  "Did you ever meet anyone by the name of Kingston?  Maybe at one of your parties or something?"

She considered that, then slowly shook her head.  "Not that I recall . . . but then, there were a lot of people at those functions, so it's hard to say.  I mean, I could have, I suppose, but if I did, I don't remember them now . . ."

His frown deepened.  "Carl Kingston, Duke of Portsmouth."

Her eyes widened.  "Oh, the Duke Portsmouth," she repeated.  "I believe I have met him a time or two, but nothing in particular; just formal greetings, that sort of thing.  Why?"

Ashur stood, one arm over his stomach, the other elbow propped on his fist while the propped hand, curled fingers against his lips.  He flicked that hand once, as though he were waving off her question.  "You ever meet his son?"

"Hmm," she murmured as she considered it.  "I don't recall that, no," she finally said.  Something about the entirely too-dark look on his face, though—the way his eyes seemed to be lost in shadows, the lines that furrowed his brow a little too deeply . . . "Why?" she asked again, this time, a little more forcefully.

He sighed, glancing at her briefly, a foreboding sort of expression on his face.  For a moment, she thought that he wasn't going to answer her or that, if he did, he was devising some sort of lie at worst or a half-truth at best, enough to satisfy her curiosity.  Then he sighed again.  "I just talked to the Zelig," he said, very obviously measuring his words carefully.  "There are no reports from the mechanics about the recent vehicle safety inspection you spoke of, but the mechanic remembers doing it and filing the paperwork as was required by law, and it was as we figured: because the accident was well over a year ago and the investigation into it has been closed, the car itself was destroyed, too, which means that we can't send someone else in to check it over . . . but that all indications are that there was something else going on in that car, something that caused the accident."

"Like Da said . . ." she murmured, absently glad that she was already sitting because her knees felt like jelly all of a sudden.

He nodded slowly.  "And . . . you need to know.  Kingston is the one who was trying to get your father to agree to betroth you to his son—and the MacDonnough was aware of it—and had actually suggested it.  There's reason to believe that he may be looking for you now to, uh . . . _force_ the issue, and I'm . . ." He grimaced and sat down beside her.  "I'm telling you this because I need you to be very, very careful about strange men who might approach you when I'm not around—who may come looking for you.  For now . . ." He made a face, shook his head.  "For now, I ask that you not go anywhere alone—not until we can figure out exactly where Kingston's son is."

"What do you mean, where his son is?" she demanded, her voice a little harsh.

"No one knows where he is," Ashur replied.  "I'm not trying to scare you, but . . . But you have to know because it'd be more dangerous for you if you didn't.  Okay?"

"Because he might try to force the issue?  You mean that he could . . .?"

He nodded, his scowl darkening.  "That's exactly what I mean," he replied.

She stared at him for a long moment as the gravity of his statement slowly sank in.  On the one hand, the idea was absolutely preposterous, wasn't it?  And yet . . . And yet, it wasn't, either, was it?  No, because she knew Ashur—knew him well enough to realize that he wouldn't tell her any such thing just for effect or even to scare her.  He told her because . . . because something about it . . . It scared him, too . . .

She finally nodded.  "Okay."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_A/N_** :  
>  _Feel free to show me some love, guys, let me know you're reading and enjoying (or not LOL) … and I may be persuaded to post an extra chapter this weekend.  Otherwise, I'll definitely post on Monday!  Have a great weekend_!
> 
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>  ** _Forum  
>  _** Denyell ——— cutechick18 ——— lianned88 ——— lovethedogs
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> ==========
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  … _What_ …?!


	28. Tempestuous

Ashur paced the foyer floor, waiting for Jessa to make her appearance.  He'd offered to take her into the city to see _Ghosts of Olde_ at Margreave Hall, mostly to distract her since she'd been uncharacteristically quiet since he'd told her about everything.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead as he slowly shook his head.  He still wasn't sure that telling her was a good idea, but, in his mind, the pros had outweighed the cons in this situation.  After all, she needed to know why she should be on alert.  Still,  Cain had offered to talk to the MacDonnough, see if he couldn't put some weight on the European tai-youkai without giving away Jessa's current location.  Ashur had called the consulate as well as the O'Shea family lawyer in Ireland to explain to them both why there was a need to keep Jessa's whereabouts as quiet as possible.

He supposed he could use the distraction of the theatre, too.  After all the phone calls, all the haggling, explaining everything over and over again . . . He felt emotionally drained, which was worse than anything else, really.

So, he'd suggested the theatre in hopes that they could both forget about everything, at least, for a little while.   He'd even opted to wear a full suit for the occasion—something he rarely ever did.

He turned around at the sound of her footsteps on the stairs, only to do a double take as she slowly descended, eyes shining, an air of excitement surrounding her. Her hair was pulled up and back into a very smooth twist.  It was all neatly pulled back with just enough poof on top to soften it around her face, but what held him captive was the sight of her long, long legs left exposed by the tiny bit of skirt that only extended down to her upper thighs, of the black velvet dress that fit her ridiculously well.  The low dip of the sweetheart neckline displayed her cleavage in an absolutely sinful kind of way, the cap sleeve just barely hugging her thin shoulders . . .  All in all, he wasn't sure if he wanted to order her to go back upstairs and change into something that provided a little more coverage, or if he just wanted to drag her into his arms and kiss her silly . . .

"You look very nice," she said as she stepped off the last stair and hurried over to him, taking her time as she straightened his tie that he hadn't realized needed straightening at all.  "There . . ."

"Thank you," he said, noting that she was actually wearing a hint of makeup—something she normally didn't do, mostly because she honestly didn't need it.  "Shouldn't I be the one to compliment you?  And you look . . . beautiful."

She bit her lip but smiled almost timidly as a slight blush rose in her cheeks, as the smile added a heightened brightness to her crimson-brown gaze.  Peering up through her gorgeously long and thick eyelashes at him, she reached up, idly fingering the cross necklace that Carol had given her for her birthday.  "Thank you," she replied.  Her smile flickered and faded, though, as her expression took on a more serious shift.  "Are . . . Are you sure that it's a good idea?  Going out in public like this?"

He grimaced inwardly, hating the seriousness that had nudged aside the excitement that he'd initially felt from her.  Even knowing that she really did need to know didn't help much, either.  It was a pretty sad bit of consolation, especially when he'd wanted to get her mind off of it for a little while.  "You're safe enough with me, Jessa," he told her, grasping her hand and leading her toward the front door.  "And no one else really knows where you are, exactly, and the attorney as well as the consulate's office understand that they cannot give your location to anyone else, should Kingston try to get information."

"It feels like a small consolation," she murmured, waiting for him as he locked the door.  He turned around in time to see her, looking around carefully, cautiously—almost nervously, and he drew a deep breath before putting a hand on the small of her back and escorting her off the porch and toward the car.

He didn't say anything until they'd gotten into the car and were pulling down the long driveway.  "Try to put it out of your mind for tonight," he told her.  "I'll protect you.  Do you trust me?"

She didn't answer, and he frowned.  The silence in the car, heavy, despite the low hum of the radio, grew and thickened, and in that silence, Ashur tried to remind himself that he really hadn't known her that long, that he really had no grounds on which to ask her to trust him, especially in something as important as this.

It didn't really help, though, and the irritation, the unintentional hurt that grew, only seemed to multiply in his head . . .

In his heart.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Margreave Hall was a beautiful, opulent theatre, built not far from the _Parc du Bastion-de-la-Reine_ , easily rivaling some of the most classic and beautiful theatres in Europe.  From the marble floors, stairs, columns, the rich fabrics that were demure yet elegant, old framed show posters dating back to the opening of the theatre, the ambience of the place surrounded them from the moment they'd walked in the doors, held open by two very stately looking doormen who had smiled and nodded at each patron in passing.

" _I'll protect you.  Do you trust me?_ "

That was the one thing that rattled through Jessa's mind throughout the show, making it hard for her to think, to concentrate on anything at all except what had to be the million dollar question . . .

She hadn't answered him when he'd asked her that question.  In truth, she wasn't entirely sure how to answer it.  It was true, he'd done a lot of things for her since she'd moved in with him and after their rocky start, but she couldn't say that she trusted him yet, either.  If she discounted the first couple weeks of her residence, when they hadn't gotten along very well and had subsisted on simply being cautiously polite, she'd only really gotten to know him a little better in the last three months, and even then, if she really thought about it, just how much did she actually know about him?

' _Nothing; not really . . ._ '

And therein lay the problem, didn't it?

' _Aren't you being a little harsh?_ '

Jessa frowned at the accusing tone in her youkai-voice.  ' _Am I?  I don't know a thing about him, other than he loves Kells beyond all reason and that he is Kells' brother biologically._ '

' _And those are pretty good things, you know.  It means that he loves that lad, and that he'd do anything for him, don't you think?  I mean, strictly speaking, you can learn a lot about someone, just by seeing how they treat children._ '

' _Yeah, but it's odd, isn't it?_ '

' _What's odd?_ '

' _Well, think about it.  Why would he have adopted Kells?  Siblings raise each other all the time, sure, but to adopt his brother? Why would he have found that to be necessary?_ '

' _Who knows?  If it bothers you so much, why don't you ask him?  It's been awhile since you asked about it the last time.  Maybe he'll give you more answers now._ '

She sighed, slipping her eyes to the side to glance at Ashur without his knowledge.  He was sitting up, ramrod straight, staring dead ahead at the stage, countenance utterly blanked.  He could be staring at a wall, watching paint dry, for all the emotion on his face, and she grimaced inwardly.  She'd also have to be completely stupid to not sense the tension in him.  Maybe he was trying to hide it.  She didn't know, but if he were, then he was failing miserably.

No, she rather doubted that he would be giving her any more answers, any time soon, if the expression on his face meant anything at all . . .

' _You need to talk to him,_ ' her youkai said.  ' _I think . . . I think he's angry that you didn't give him any kind of answer._ '

She sighed inwardly.  The answer would have been worse, wouldn't it?  Even so, there was some truth to her youkai-voice's statement.  She _did_ need to talk to him, to at least explain why she couldn't answer that question yet, but . . . But she _wanted_ to, didn't she?  And maybe that was the most surprising part of it.  After feeling so isolated and alone for so long, even before her father had died, well before her mother had, too: it was a feeling, that had stretched back well into her childhood—her lack of friends, her sense of always being alone—and back then, it was okay because she had her horse, Derry to keep her company.  She'd learned not to depend upon anyone but herself, not even her beloved father, since she'd reached that age where Da couldn't fix everything, and she'd come to understand that he had enough things to deal with on his own. Boarding school had seemed so far away, too, that she felt like she couldn't lay her problems at his feet, anyway.  That was when she'd learned to solve things for herself, and if she couldn't, she'd always been able to simply ignore the people and the issues that troubled her.  Somehow, along the way, it had become so ingrained in her that she'd forgotten how to lean on anyone, and the idea of trusting someone else—of becoming dependent upon another person . . . It was difficult, but . . . She . . . She _wanted_ to trust him.  She didn't know why.  There wasn't an easy way to explain her feelings.

That was the real problem, wasn't it?  Just how in the world could she possibly make him understand something that she didn't, not really . . .?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ashur closed the door behind himself with a stifled sigh as he reached over and touched the panel to lock everything up for the night.  Dropping his keys on the nearby table, he strode past the living room and down the short hallway to his office as he yanked off his tie and dropped it carelessly over the back of one of the chairs facing the desk, followed in short order by the formal jacket.

He let out a breath in a heavy gust, rolling up his sleeves a couple times as he rounded the desk and flopped down in the chair, figuring he might as well catch up on his correspondences since he was entirely too agitated to even think about going to bed any time soon.

He couldn't honestly tell anyone just what the show was about.  He'd spent the entire time, thinking and thinking and growing more and more irritated by the second, to the point that the smallest thing likely could set him off in a blind rage now if he didn't find some way to refocus his energy.

Rubbing a hand over his face in an infinitely weary sort of way, he waited impatiently for the computer to boot and opened his email first: a good thirty messages from various people who wanted to introduce themselves or just wanted to welcome him to the region.  He had drafted a form thank you letter a week ago or more, which made it much simpler to reply to these emails . . .

"Ashur?"

He couldn't help the way he sat up a little straighter, how his back stiffened at the sound of her voice.  Gritting his teeth, he thought about ignoring her for a moment, but he sighed when he realized that he really couldn't do that, not to her, no matter how bruised his ego might be.

"Yes?" he asked without looking away from the computer monitor.

Her sigh was soft, quiet.  "I . . . I wanted to thank you for taking me to the theatre," she said.

His sigh was much, much louder.  "It was nothing," he told her, still refusing to look at her.

She didn't speak for a few moments, as though she were trying to get a read on Ashur's mood.  Deliberately tamping down his emotions, he stubbornly refused to say anything else, waiting instead for her to either walk away or to say whatever was really on her mind.  "A-About your question," she finally said.  "It's . . . It's not that I don't trust you.  It's just that—"

Standing up so abruptly that his chair flew back until it bumped into the wall, Ashur strode around the desk and brushed past her, and he kept moving until he was standing in the living room with a glass of brandy in his hands.  He started to turn away, but thought better of it, slamming back the drink and sloshing more into the snifter before pacing across the floor.

"I wasn't trying to hurt you," she said quietly, her feet making no sound as she stepped toward him.  She hadn't changed clothes yet, but she had removed her shoes.

"You didn't," he stated flatly, emptying the glass for the second time before thumping it down on a side table hard.

"But you seem—"

"I'd have to care for it to hurt me," he blurted before he could stop himself, as his temper snapped—as he regretted the words as they left his lips.

She drew back, as though he had physically slapped her, her gaze igniting in indignant fire as she drew herself up, straight and proud, all traces of her almost meek and apologetic demeanor fading fast.  "I see," she said, mustering as much dignity as she possibly could, turning on her heel to stride out of the room.  "Rot in hell, Ashur Philips!  You bloody arse!"

"An arse, am I?" he growled as he strode after her, berating himself for his inability to control his temper, even as her words hung in the air as she dashed up the stairs.  He caught her as she tried to slam the door of her bedroom in his face.  "Jessa, stop!" he commanded, not really surprised when she ignored him, throwing her weight against the door to try to close it on him.

He gave the door a good shove, sending her stumbling back, but he caught her before she fell, yanked her hard against his chest.  "You don't trust me," he ground out, his body redirecting the passion of their altercation into another direction entirely, "but you want me."

She gasped, her eyes flaring wide at what he'd said, and she tried to push against him as his mouth fell on hers, shocking her senses with the taste of cognac and something far headier, decimating her anger as a wave of absolute desire shot through her.  It was unlike anything she'd ever felt before—a purely reactionary wave of unadulterated heat—exploding deep inside her with an unrelenting power, a force that encompassed all that she was, obliterating her objections before they had a chance to form.  The crush of his lips, the hunger that he didn't try to hide from her only fueled the surging emotion, like a wildfire, swept out of control by a capricious wind.

Drawing her up against him with one arm, the other hand sinking into her hair, loosening the bobby pins that held it secured as it fell around her: a tangle of curls.  He groaned roughly against her lips, the sound reverberating from him to her, muffled by her mouth as it opened to his demands—the flick of his tongue against hers as her knees threatened to buckle under her—shocking yet beautiful, wild and free . . .

She heard the sound of her zipper being lowered, but it was vague and distant, even as the cooler air, hitting her bared back, registered in her mind in a gauzy way, like trying to see through the fog.  The desire to touch him was far too strong to ignore, and yet, her fingers didn't want to comply as she clumsily fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.  Impatience won out, and she growled as she dug her claws into the fabric, rending it in one deft yank as he jerked her against him again with a growl that could have been a warning, but it was lost in a dizzying wave of need so strong, so inebriating, that anything less was gone in an instant, in a heartbeat.  Fingers slipping over the broad expanse of his chest, of his shoulders, she reveled in the absolute heat that radiated off of his body in waves as muscles rippled under her touch, as she felt the shiver race through him.

Pushing the sleeves of the dress down off of her shoulders, he stepped back, broke the kiss, shaking hands on her arms, pushing the dress down until she pulled her arms free of the garment.  He uttered a  roughened gasp as her breasts sprang free, dropped to his knees as he shoved the dress lower, down her sides, over her hips, catching the sides of her panties, setting off trails of gooseflesh everywhere he touched as the heat of his hands shot through her, converged in the raging fire that threatened to engulf her, and he stood up, quickly discarding his clothing before he lifted her out of the dress that lay forgotten on the floor, kissing her again with such a fervor, a barely contained brutality, shattering what was left of her conscious thought as he laid her on the bed.

Hands on her breasts, kneading them, tugging on them, squeezing and releasing as she writhed and moaned.  His mouth fell over one of them, the burn of his tongue nearly her undoing as she arched her back off the bed with a sharply indrawn breath, as a strangled sort of cry escaped her.  He was relentless, suckling at her, drawing her in deep, flicking his tongue over her swollen nipple until she thought she would go mad as the ache at the core of her condensed and thickened, beating with a steady throb, a near-painful need, the likes of which she'd never, ever felt before.

Tugging on his shoulders as she writhed beneath him, as she tried to make him understand, she could only hold onto him, could only trust that he knew where they were going, how they were going to get there, that he would lead her where her body demanded.

He rose up against her, his body dragging over hers as another round of shockwaves ricocheted through her.  She felt that part of him—that stunning, beautiful part of him—as it pulsed against her thigh.  Shifting her hips, unable to control herself as the painful ache spiraled thicker and hotter in her, she gasped as the very tip of him brushed against the part of her that called to him, needed him, so close and yet, not nearly close enough, as she spread her knees a little wider, instinctively inviting him, and he groaned.

His mouth broke away from hers, and she whimpered softly.  "Damn it," he growled, letting his forehead drop against hers as he struggled to regain a semblance of his control.  She turned her face, recaptured his lips, but he groaned and pulled back again.  "We can't . . . I don't have . . . Jessa," he murmured between kisses.

She opened her eyes, unable to make sense of his half-sentences, of his new irritation.  He caught her confused look and slowly shook his head.  "I don't have any condoms," he told her, eyes darkening even more as he stared at her.

She shook her head, vaguely waved a hand at her nightstand.  "Carol . . . there," Jessa replied, unable to piece together a better explanation since her brain was screaming at her to reach for him once more.

He leaned to the side, yanked open the nightstand drawer, pushed himself up into a kneeling position as he grabbed a condom and yanked it open, hands shaking, as she watched him through heavily-lidded eyes.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought that she shouldn't be watching him so brazenly, and yet, she didn't try to look away, either, as he tossed the empty packet to the side and rolled the condom down on himself.

She reached over, grasped him firmly in her hand.  He sucked in a harsh breath, yanked her hand away roughly, as he rose up, crashed down on her, pinning her hand beside her head, a savage brightness in his gaze as he reached down with his free hand, positioned himself.  Her eyes slipped closed, only to flash open wide when he slammed his hips against hers.  She arched up, cried out, unable to stop the manic tremors that shot through her as the ache inside her burst wide open, as a million explosions culminated in a burst of the sweetest pleasure—pleasure that was only magnified by the hard and rapid thrusts as he rocked his body against hers.  Deeper, faster, as that borderline painful tightening in her wound up again with every push.  He groaned out her name as he stroked her deeply, with a barely contained brutality that she welcomed.  With one last hard thrust, he threw his head back, uttered a terse, choked cry as she rose off the bed once more, only to be slammed back down again, as the tightening in her core gave way again, as the crazy-mad bliss held her, suspended in wave upon earth-shattering wave . . .

She didn't know how long it took her to regain any of her senses.  Gradually, though, she felt him, holding her close against his side, one hand gently holding her shoulder, his thumb idly rubbing circles, the other hand smoothing her hair back off of her face.  He'd rolled over onto his back, and he'd removed the used condom, too, but he didn't seem as though he were in any great hurry to get up, and she was all right with that, too.

Savoring the absolute feeling of closeness, she wondered vaguely, just how long this moment could last.

He sighed.  "That was pathetic," he muttered, sounding duly disgusted.  "Seriously sad . . ."

Her bubble of contentment burst, and she started to roll off of him, ready to seek sanctuary in the bathroom.  He caught her and held her tightly.  "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, sounding a little lethargic, almost bemused.

"Let me go," she whispered, hating the thickness that choked her as she blinked stubbornly and tried to push his arms away.

"Jessa?"

She shook her head, nearing all-out panic as, to her horror, the prickle of tears stung the back of her eyelids.  He let go of her, and she nearly stumbled as she rolled off the bed and hurried to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ashur leaned on his elbows, frowning at the closed bathroom door as he tried to make sense of Jessa's mercurial mood swing.  It didn't make sense, did it?  ' _She . . . She wanted that, too . . . didn't she . . .?_ '

Heaving a sigh since his body was still on high alert, he swung his legs off the bed and sat up, willing himself to calm down since it was pretty obvious that she wasn't interested in a repeat at the moment.  But just what was bothering her . . .?

' _What do you mean, what's bothering her?  Are you stupid, Kyouhei?  Seriously?  Or did you forget what you said just after you finished having mind-blowing sex with her?_ '

He snorted.  ' _I wasn't talking about the sex.  I was talking about me . . ._ '

' _Yeah, but you didn't say that, and think about how it must have sounded to her, of all people . . ._ '

"Damn it . . ."

' _Yeah, well, you should probably go explain yourself because she was ready to cry, if you didn't notice . . ._ '

It only took five strides to reach the bathroom door.  He almost expected to find it locked, which wouldn't matter since it was his house, so if he broke the door, he'd just replace it, but it wasn't, and he made a face at the smell of her tears, prevalent, even over the scent of the soap she was using in the shower.

Without stopping to think about it, he slipped into the shower as she gasped, as she whipped around to hide herself from him.  He sighed and reached over, pulling the wash cloth from her as he gently pushed her drenched hair over her shoulder and started soaping up her back.  "I'm sorry," he said, hating the way she stood, entirely tense, ready to bolt.  "When I said it was pathetic, I meant me."

She didn't pull away from him, and he figured that was a good sign, but she didn't speak, either, which was probably not.

"I can't remember the last time I lost control like that," he went on.  "I didn't . . . I didn't hurt you . . . did I?"

He didn't miss the way she quickly glanced over her shoulder at him.  "N-No," she said quietly.  "No . . ."

"Good . . . That was the last thing I wanted to do, but you know . . . It really shouldn't have been so rushed, either," he remarked.  "I just . . . I couldn't . . . I couldn't control myself . . ." He sighed and leaned down, kissing the nape of her neck.  She shivered.  "You drive me crazy, you know."

She sniffled.  "Do I?"

Pulling her back against him, wrapping his arms over her stomach, he nodded.  "You do."

"You . . . You don't . . . regret it . . .?"

"No, I don't," he told her.  "Do you?"

She shook her head, finally relaxed against him.  "No."

"Good," he said, letting go of her to reach for her bottle of body wash.

"Are you going to wash me?" she asked, turning her head to peer up at him.

He nodded.  "Yes.  Yes, I am."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_A/N_** :  
>  _I've had a pretty crappy weekend so far… Feel free to drop me a line_!
> 
>  ** _Parc du Bastion-de-la-Reine:_** _Very stately park located next to the Citadel of Quebec_.
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Sora ——— smpnst ——— xSerenityx020
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda+Gauger ——— Okmeamithinknow ——— minthegreen ——— WhisperingWolf
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Crow ——— Denyell ——— lianned88 ——— lovethedogs ——— cutechick18
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _I should thank Carol_ …


	29. Contemplation

It was late as Jessa lay awake, nestled comfortably against Ashur, her head on his shoulder, hand resting lightly on his chest while he idly stroked her hair, his other hand rubbing her arm.  They hadn't said much of anything since he'd led her into his room after their shower.  His bed was bigger, he'd said, more comfortable, which she supposed it was.

As companionable as the silence was, though, she frowned.  She still wanted to explain to him.  She wanted him to understand.  It wasn't that she felt like she owed him any explanations, no.  It was more of an understanding that she wanted him to know . . . Given how angry he was about it, though, she wasn't entirely sure that bringing it up again was a good idea . . . and she was really savoring the closeness that she felt at the moment.  Listening to the sound of his heartbeat, reveling in the warmth of his body against hers . . . She hadn't realized that this sort of feeling even existed . . . or maybe she'd just felt so alone for so very long that she felt it more acutely than she ever had before . . .

He sighed.  "What are you thinking about?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, as though he were afraid to break the silence.

She swallowed hard, almost afraid of giving voice to her thoughts, yet still needing to say it—compelled to say it.  "I want you to know," she said.  "I . . . It's not that I don’t trust you.  I just don't . . . I don't trust anyone, not really."  Closing her eyes for a moment, she unconsciously huddled a little closer to him.  "I don't even know if I trust myself . . ."

"I . . . I get that," he told her, pulling her more solidly against him.  "I have trouble with that, too," he admitted.  "I shouldn't have gotten so angry."

"I just didn't know how to answer you then," she went on.  "I . . . I still don't."

"You don't have to," he told her.  "It was unfair of me to ask you to trust me."  Uttering a terse little laugh that didn't have much real amusement in it, he shrugged.  "The only person who has never let me down in my life is Ben," he went on.  "Well, Kells, but how could he?  He's a child, and . . . and I don't think he could ever really disappoint me . . ." He shook his head and waved a hand in dismissal.  "It's neither here nor there.  It's just . . . When I think about everyone in my life that I've relied upon, that I've spent years, trying to justify their actions on some level when there really is no good excuse for anything they've done . . . And then, I look at you, Jessa, and I . . ." He cleared his throat, and she could sense it, couldn't she?  The vulnerability that he was trying so hard to hide . . . He . . . He was . . .

' _He's frightened, isn't he?  But . . . Frightened of what . . .?_ '

Without thinking about it, she propped herself up on her elbows, kissed him on the cheek.  "You're lonely, too, aren't you?"

He looked surprised at her perceptiveness.  Even in the weak and fickle light that filtered through the French doors that led to the balcony beyond, she didn't miss the heightened brightness in his gaze, the fleeting glimpse of a fear that he squelched with admirable ruthlessness.  "Am I?"

She leaned down, kissed him softly, digging her fingers deep into his hair as she shifted her body, as he wrapped his arms around her, running his claws lightly, teasingly up and down her spine.  Gentle kisses, as soft as the flutter of a butterfly's wings, and she moaned as his lips trailed down to her neck, concentrating on the stuttering pulse, fangs grazing over silken skin.  Running her hands over the smooth, unyielding flesh of his chest, reveling in the way his muscles jerked under her perusal, breaking off the kiss as she sat up, as she stared down at him in complete and utter fascination, she scooted down his body, forcing a ragged groan out of him as her fingertips trailed over the rises and hollows of his abdomen . . . She giggled as his muscles twitched, unable to hide her complete fascination with his body.

She glanced at him, only to see that he'd closed his eyes, a frown furrowing his brow as he swallowed hard—she could see his Adam's apple bob with the motion—and before she could stop to think about it, she reached down, grasped him in both of her hands, and squeezed.  He gasped again, half-exhalation, half-her-name, as he jerked in her grip, as she stared at that part of him in absolute thrall.  She wanted to know him—all of him—the part of him that had given her such pleasure before . . .

Before she could think about it, she leaned down, opened her lips as she drew him deep, tasting the bitter, almost metallic pre-cum that had oozed out of him, her own saliva dripping down over her fingers as she rather clumsily drew back before sucking him in deep again.  He rasped out a harsh cry, a ragged entreaty to _kami_ , sinking his hands into her hair, helping her to create a rhythm as he shuddered and shook.

Stroking him with her tongue, with the heat of her mouth, she couldn't help the giggle that swelled in her throat as he moaned and groaned, jerking wildly as she worked him up and down, marveling at his reactions, at the idea that she was able to reduce him to this.

The muscles in his arms strained, bulged, veins popping out in stark relief, buffed by the gloss of the moonlight . . . Uttering a terse, choked groan, his body quivering as she slowly gained confidence, as she lengthened, cultivated the visceral kiss, cheeks collapsing as she drew him in as deeply as she could, as she slipped her lips over her teeth, only to squeeze him just a little tighter in her jaws . . .

A roughened, almost primitive growl, issued from him as his fists wrapped around handfuls of the duvet under him.  She heard the slight tearing of fabric, felt the tremors erupting throughout his body as a heady pleasure shot through her—the innate understanding that she ultimately held that much sway over him, at least, in those moments . . .

"J . . . Jes . . . sa . . ." he gasped out, grasping her shoulders as he thickened between her lips.  "You . . ."

He started to push her back.  She tightened her grasp on him, his hips pistoning up off of the mattress, and she sucked him in harder, unwilling to let him draw away from her.  He growled out a hoarse, gruff, almost strangled, sound as a hot, bitter gush filled her mouth, almost gagged her, as she stubbornly held on, swallowing fast as his orgasm exploded twice, three times . . .

He collapsed against the bed, breathing harsh in the quiet as she slowly, carefully, sucked him clean then released him with a loud 'pop' as the suction broke.  Smiling slightly as she sat back on her heels, she wiped the her lips with the back of her hand, watching him as he struggled to breathe, eyes closed, looking more vulnerable than she could credit . . .

It took a couple minutes for him to manage to force his eyes open.  She couldn't help the tender little smile that formed on her lips, in her eyes, as she watched him.  But he reached out to her, pulled her down when she slid back up his body, kissed her deep as he sank a finger into her.  She gasped into his mouth, her body feeling as though it was liquefying, and he chuckled, slowly pumping her with his finger as he echoed the strokes with his tongue.

She writhed against him, bracing her knees against the bed, rocking herself against him as that incessant ache coiled and multiplied.  Whimpering softly, frustrated at the building need, the spreading flames inside her, she uttered a plaintive little whine when he wrapped his free arm over her waist, slowing her down, driving her mad . . .

"Ashur," she complained, almost pouting, as she leaned away, eyes burning with the passion he'd ignited and had yet to quell.

He chuckled softly, his finger slipping out of her as she closed her eyes and shuddered at the loss of him, at the desolate emptiness that he'd left her with.  He reached over and snagged one of the condoms he'd confiscated from her nightstand and held it out to her.  "Go ahead," he prompted when she finally opened her eyes again, as he smiled at the pouting expression on her face.  "You're curious, right?  So, you do it."

She spared a moment to frown at him for a moment before snatching the condom and ripping it open.  He helped her just a little as she tried to roll the condom onto him.  After he got it started for her, he laid back, tucking his hands together behind his neck, content to watch her as she rolled it down, as she bit her lip and stared at him.

"Go ahead," he told her once more, nodding at himself, daring her to continue.

She started to shake her head, unsure exactly what he was telling her to do.

He sighed and reached out, slipping his hands under her buttocks, pulling her up and forward, before letting go with one hand, only to grasp himself, gently nudging her open, slipping just the head of his cock into her before letting go, leaving her poised, her thighs, already slick with her own fluids, as he tucked his hands behind his neck once more.

She gasped, moaned as she slowly let herself sink down on him, sitting impossibly still as she savored the feeling of him, so deep inside her.  The fullness was incredible, and she couldn't help the contraction of her muscles as he twitched and jerked in her.

He groaned, long and low, grasped her hips in his hands as he pulled her up until just the tip of him was in her before slowly lowering her on him once more.  She gasped again, pitching forward against his chest, kissing him with an urgency that she couldn't suppress, and all the while, he lifted her, lowered her, his body creating a pulse, a rhythm.  The feeling was maddening, both wonderful and frustrating, all at once, as her need grew, the slow lethargy wasn't nearly enough . . .

"Ashur," she murmured, silently begging him for what she knew he could give her, struggling against his hold as he pushed into her so slowly that she felt like she might lose her mind.  "Please . . ."

"Not fast enough?" he asked her, his whisper echoing in her head.

She shook her head, tried to push against him.  He chuckled.   "All right," he relented, letting his hands fall to her knees.  "Do what you want."

It took her a moment to understand just what he was saying.  Bracing her hands on his chest, she shifted her hips, heard his low groan as her need wound tighter.  Rising on her knees, she whimpered as he slid out of her, only to gasp as she let her body fall on his, as the throb that surrounded the core of her reverberated with the harshness of the action.  The faster that she moved, the more painful the ache deep in her grew.  Concentrating on the absolute sensation that coursed through her with every thrust, she felt his hands, grasping her breasts, squeezing, kneading, tugging, and she whimpered, whined as the crazy-wild ache deepened.  Grinding her hips against his, she gasped, cried out as the ache inside her broke free, as she reared back, her hands catching on his thighs, as she ground down on him harder, her body convulsing around his as her mind blanked, oblivious to everything except the gush of pleasure that coursed through her.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt his hands as he grasped her hips again, as he lifted his pelvis off the bed as he yanked her hard against him.  He thrust into her with a wanton, borderline vicious, abandon, then drove up into her as he jerked her down one last time, as his cry mingled with her, shattering the silence in a livid rush . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ashur awoke slowly, a half-smile on his lips as he opened his eyes, blinking at the bright sunlight that filtered through the windows of the French doors.  Glancing down at Jessa, still sprawled on his chest where she'd fallen asleep just after they'd finished making love, his smile widened, even as he grimaced, realizing too late that he'd fallen asleep just after her—and soon enough that he hadn't removed the condom—and that he was still very much inside her—and still very, very hard.

' _So . . . pick up where you left off, Kyouhei . . . I really don't think she'd mind at all . . ._ '

' _Hmm . . . I think I will . . ._ '

Moving his hips, just enough to test the waters, he groaned softly when he realized that she was still very, very receptive.  Even in sleep, her body undulated around him, allowing him free movement to attest to the fact that she really was just as ready for a morning go-round as he was . . .

She sighed as he slowly thrust in her, taking his time, savoring the feel of her as he pushed into her.  Her legs were still tucked around his hips, her feet against his thighs, it was simple to just gently lift her hips, to slowly lower her onto him.  Content to slowly savor her, at least, until she woke up, he closed his eyes, concentrated on the feel of her, of her body as she reacted to him . . .

She awoke with a moan, her gaze bleary as she opened her eyes, as she peered at him, even as a flush broke over her skin, as she tightened around him.  He shivered in reaction.  "Morning," he said, pulling her down on him once more.

She gasped and kissed him, her body constricting around him again.  Suddenly, though, she sat up, grinding her hips against his, apparently unsatisfied with the slowness that he was indulging.

He started to chuckle, but groaned instead, taking in the absolutely gorgeous sight of those breasts, so perfectly round, thrust upward, nipples hardened into dusty rose peaks that begged for his touch, at her flat stomach, the muscles that were visible beneath the softness of her skin . . . Torn between the need to touch her breasts and the desire to grasp that tiny waist of hers, to help her as she rode him, he leaned up on his elbows, captured the peak of one breast between his lips, between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make her gasp again as a tremor shot through her, the vibrations nearly shattering what was left of his control as she rocked against him, harder, faster . . .

"Ashur . . . Oh, _God_ ," she moaned, slamming against him, over and over, the dark and wet sounds of their movements driving him to the very brink.

He grabbed her around the waist, flipped them over as he plunged into her, as she screamed.  Grasping her legs, flipping her feet up over his shoulders, he pounded into her as hard as he could.  She writhed and panted, body convulsing as her pleasure took over, he smiled vaguely at the wash of wholly male pride—a primitive pride of a man who was pleasing his woman—as he licked his thumb, slipped it between the folds to find that little nub, sending her careening into pleasure so intense that she tightened around him, almost painfully.

He could feel the tingling deep in him, the rising burn as his orgasm approached.  Gritting his teeth, willing it back, he kept going, driving her to pleasure again and again.  She was nearly whining softly, punctuated by her stunted breathing, her body well beyond her own control.  She reached up, grasping her own breasts, tugging on her nipples, her skin flushed and glowing, her body demanding, opening and closing around him like delicate blossom.  He could feel the tell-tale tremors racing through her yet again, and this time, he let go, slamming into her as hard as he could, feeling the rush in his balls as his orgasm took over.  Another thrust—two of them—ended with an explosion, as both of them cried out, their voices mingling, echoing, reverberating around them, and he pumped her another time or two as the last of his orgasm surged.

He collapsed onto her, unable to do much more than to shift slightly to the side to keep from crushing her.  She half-cried, half-laughed, her hands pushing at his hair, babbling nonsense as she kissed his face gently, tenderly, while he struggled to come back down to earth.

It took a long time for his breathing to slow, for his body to move when he willed it to.  Leaning on his elbow, he smiled down at her.  She still looked somewhat sleepy, but her cheeks were still flushed, and before he could say anything, she lifted her hips against his, reminding him that he was still inside her, and not really wanting to pull himself out, either . . .

"Jessa . . ."

She pressed a finger to his lips.  "You're not going to say something pragmatic, are you?  Like, we have to get up, blah blah blah?"

He chuckled and caught her hand, bringing the back of her fingers to his lips.  "Well, it is—" he glanced at the clock and snorted, "—nearly noon."

"But I'm really comfortable," she complained, undulating her hips to tell him exactly what she meant.

He groaned.  "You're going to kill me, aren't you?" he complained.  Drawing a deep breath as she giggled, he slowly pulled out of her, ignoring her whines of protest.

Then he made a face and heaved a sigh since the condom was ridiculously full and therefore messy as hell as he carefully pulled it off.  "Ugh . . . I guess using one of these twice is a bad idea," he muttered as he got up to throw it away.  "I need a shower."

She uttered a tiny but frustrated growl as she scooted off the bed to follow him.  He raised an eyebrow at her when she stepped into the bathroom after him.  "You want to shower with me?" he asked.

"Well, you did help me last night," she intoned, slipping into the space beside him and reaching for his body wash.  "I think I should return the favor . . ."

"Oh, do you?"

She smiled up at him—a smile that made his breath catch somewhere between his lips and lungs—and if that smile did that to him every time, he'd be okay with that, too.  "Yes," she said, leaning up to kiss him softly, tenderly.  "I really, really do."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ashur leaned back in his chair, dropping the report he had been trying to read for the last two hours.  It wasn't anything overly important, just an update on the Alberta province, but he still needed to read over it.

Too bad he had other things on his mind—things like a naked Jessa O'Shea, for one . . . She was out riding, which was good since he'd be sorely tempted to get her naked again if she was anywhere within reach.  She'd said that Devlin was going to go with her, and he figured that was safe enough.  Given that the man said that kissing her was like kissing a sister, Ashur wasn't overly concerned about him.

He really never should have slept with her because now that he had, the images that flashed through his mind were all-too-real—and all too inviting . . .

He sighed as the memory of her, astride him, her body encompassing him completely, flickered to glaring life before his eyes: her beautifully rounded breasts, rosy nipples that were the same shade as her lips, so proud, so gorgeous . . . head tilted to the side, eyes half closed as her gaze burned into his, her lips slightly parted, cheeks dusted with a flush of pure passion . . .

' _You're really not going to get a damn thing done if you keep thinking about her,_ ' his youkai-voice remarked dryly.

' _I know it.  She's ruined me . . ._ '

' _Stop being melodramatic, will you?  Now, as I see it, you've got two options: you can go find her and fuck her again—I'd be okay with this—or you can put her out of your mind for a few hours in hopes that you can actually get some work done.  Your call, big man.  Guess which of those I want to do . . ._ '

He snorted since his youkai was being particularly unhelpful at the moment.

' _I can't believe she gave you head,_ ' the annoying voice went on.  ' _Hana wouldn't even do that . . . Well, not after you were able to actually fuck her, that is, and you know that she really didn't like doing it much, even though you went down on her plenty . . ._ '

And that thought was like a dousing of ice cold water, as far as Ashur was concerned.  Reaching for the report once more, he figured he'd at least be able to concentrate for the moment, so maybe he should be thankful for that on some level, even if the statement was a little more than he could tolerate.

' _I know; I know.  You hate to even think about Hana, but, like it or not, she was a huge part of our past, and you know that a small part of you really does miss her, too._ '

That didn't deserve a response, either, as far as he was concerned.  Despite the fact that, yes, a part of him did miss Hana, every time he thought about her, it always ended up in the same place: of him, remembering how he'd held Kells for the first time, as their mother had died, that Hana had nearly cost him Kells' life, and all because of that . . .

The trill of his cell phone broke through his musings, and Ashur connected the call without bothering to check the caller ID, figuring any distraction was a good distraction at this point.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Ashur!  It's Thurston Margreave!  Just thought I'd check in, see how the lady likes Stardust?"

"Mr. Margreave, hi . . ."

The man laughed jovially.  "Thurston's fine, Ashur!"

"Uh, yes, okay," he replied.  "She loves him . . . I'll be happy to buy him from you, if the offer still stands."

"Absolutely!  We'll talk price when I get home, but since it's you, I'll cut you a deal."

"You don't have to," Ashur said.  "He's a very fine horse; even I can tell that, and I don't know much about them, so I’m more than happy to pay what he's worth."

"No worries!  We can discuss it when I get back . . . How's Laith working out for you?"

"Laith?  I like him.  He's done a lot of work around here—stuff that I haven't asked of him.  Says he likes to keep busy."

"He does, he does," Thurston replied.  "You know, if you're needing a master of stables, I'd be happy to recommend him.  Mine's been working for me for a long, long time, but Laith's quite capable.  Besides, he deserves the job, and he'd do well for you."

"You . . . You wouldn't mind?  I confess, I considered it, but I wasn't going to ask him since he's your employee."

Thurston laughed.  "I tell you honestly, he's probably the best man for the job.  He's worked for me for a few years now, and I've never had any problems with him.  He's a good, hard worker, and if he's interested, then I've got no complaints about letting him go.  Now, if it were someone else, maybe . . ."

Ashur chuckled.  "Thanks . . . I'll talk to him."

"All right!  Well, the little woman's wanting to drag me off to play bridge.  Let me know if Laith's interested!"

"I will," Ashur assured him.

The phone connection ended, and Ashur set it aside, his expression taking on a more serious look as he considered the idea of offering Laith the job.  It wasn't that he was against it, of course.  He just wondered if it was really all right to offer it to him when he already worked for Margreave.  Then again, Thurston did sound genuine when he said he wouldn't mind . . .

Maybe he'd ask Jessa.  After all, she knew more about the workings of the stable than he did, and, as far as he was concerned, the stables were her area, not his, anyway . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** — — — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** WhisperingWolf ——— ShiroNeko316 ——— Okmeamithinknow ——— Alice ——— minthegreen ——— Amanda Gauger
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from Jessa**_ :  
>  _So … when do we get to do that again_ …?


	30. New Light

Jessa grunted as she caught Ashur's arm and neatly flipped him over.  He landed with a heavy exhalation and stared up at her.  "Had enough for the day?" he asked without bothering to get back to his feet.

She laughed and shook her head.  "I'm rather enjoying myself," she quipped.  "Are you just going to lie there all day?"

"Thinking about it," he replied, holding up a hand to her.

"What the matter?  Getting tired of being thrown around by a girl?" she teased.

He chuckled and waved his hand at her.  She reached down to help him to his feet, but he yanked, catching her as she fell on him.  "You're supposed to fight back, Jessa," he murmured, his tone, soft, almost sing-song, as he held her tight against his body.

"Oh . . . okay . . ." she agreed, making no move at all to distance herself from him.  "How should I fight you?" she asked, smoothing his bangs off of his face with one hand while the other traced the outline of his lips with infinitely gentle fingers.

His chuckle took on a rather wicked lilt as he caught her hands and rolled, pinning her against the ground as his knee slipped between her legs.  She gave a half-hearted attempt to throw him off, bucking her body under his, and he groaned.  "That's not really convincing me to get off of you," he rumbled in her ear.

"Outside?  Here?" she murmured breathlessly.

"Here . . . there . . . wherever . . ." he replied, his lips falling to the pulse in her throat as her eyes drifted closed, and she sighed.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, common sense told her that she ought to stop him before anything went too far, before she completely lost herself in him.  Common sense, however, was a little too far away, especially against him, and she sighed again as pure sensation nudged aside the more pragmatic sound of the words of chiding that sounded entirely too much like her youkai-voice . . .

Ashur nuzzled against her, breathed in the scent of her, before he sighed, too, and finally leaned away for a moment before shoving himself off of her and back to his feet once more.  Then he scowled at her as he caught her hands and pulled her up.

"What's that look for?" she asked, arching her eyebrows high as she blinked at the absolute chagrin on his face.

"Horrible, what you've reduced me to," he complained, shaking his head for added emphasis.  "I feel no better than a cub who just discovered his own penis and what it can be used for," he grumbled.

She pressed her lips together in a thin line before she gave into the urge to laugh at him.  "Is that so?" she challenged mildly, turning away so that he couldn't discern her smile.

He snorted indelicately.  "It's not nearly as funny as you seem to think it is," he informed her.

She did manage not to laugh out loud.  It didn't help, though, when her shoulders were shaking uncontrollably.  "You're right.  It's not," she choked out.

Grabbing her from behind, he wrapped his arms around her, deliberately allowing one of his hands to brush over her breast, which effectively killed her amusement as she gasped and leaned against him, just that simply.  "So . . . what else can it be used for?" she asked, eyes drifting closed as he very deliberately closed a hand on her breast and gave it a good squeeze.

He sighed again, letting his hand fall to her waist.  "As much as I'd love to show you, Jessa, I'm expecting someone soon—unfortunately."

It took her a moment to get a handle on her rioting senses, wondering absently just how it was that he could set her blood to singeing in her veins with a simple look, a simple touch . . . "Who?" she asked, trying to convince herself that what her body wanted was not going to happen—easier said than done.

Her frustration must have come through in her voice, because he chuckled and leaned down to kiss her cheek.  "Later, Jessa, I promise," he told her.

She tried to shrug him off.  It didn't work, and he just chuckled some more.  "I think I'll go to bed early tonight—alone—with a good book . . ."

He took her pouting for what it was and laughed as he let his arms fall away from her and headed back toward the terrace.  "We'll see about that," he tossed over his shoulder.

If she had something in her hands, she might well have thrown it at him.  She didn't, unfortunately, so she uttered a very loud growl of frustration that also lit the torches lining the terrace.

Ashur glanced back and slowly shook his head, but his laughter did linger in the air well after he'd disappeared inside again.

' _You'd do well to learn a wee bit of patience, Jessa,_ ' her youkai-voice chided.

She wrinkled her nose, waving a hand to put out the torches.  ' _Patience  . . . Right . . ._ '

That was a lot easier said than done, given that there was something entirely addictive about Ashur Philips.  Besides, the last few days since they'd ended up in bed together had been absolutely magical in her estimation.  Making love until the wee hours of the morning, falling asleep in his arms, held against his heart, always with him, still deep inside her, always waking up to him, making love to her again . . . She savored those moments, those feelings of being in complete syncopation with him, and it was during those precious minutes that she'd felt like she wasn't entirely alone . . .

' _Which you know is not really a good reason to sleep with someone,_ ' her youkai-blood indelicately pointed out.

' _And I don't hear you complaining at the time, either,_ ' she retorted.

' _Are you kidding?  That man . . . What he does with his penis?  Nope, no complaints, at all . . ._ '

Jessa snorted.  ' _See?_ '

Her youkai sighed.  ' _It's entirely beside the point, though.  For our kind, you know that sex was never intended just to be a sport, something you do when you're feeling lost and alone.  Jessa . . ._ '

' _So, what?  I should just . . . just, what?  Lock myself in my bedroom, don't come out till morning?  Give up the first thing that's made me feel . . ._ '

' _Go on, lass.  You can say it, you know.  It's still there, and it's still true, and you can't run from it, even if it comforts you for a little while.  Sooner or later, you're going to have to deal with it, and letting yourself rely on him, just for those few moments of comfort isn't going to help you in the end._ '

' _It's not like . . . like that,_ ' she argued, wrapping her arms over her stomach as she turned, as she glared out over the horizon, over the fields and the paddocks and the great, wide expanse of emptiness.  ' _Ashur . . ._ '

' _You cannot truly be with someone when you cannot face your own feelings, Jessa._ '

Frowning at the truth in that statement, she sighed.  As much as she hated to admit, she could understand what the voice was telling her.  She didn't want to think about it, didn't want to drag it all back up to the surface, to face the rawness, the scars that hadn't yet truly healed at all . . . To be with someone— _anyone_ —meant that she had to work through her own issues, didn't it?  Because if she didn't, just what would she really have to offer someone else, and Ashur . . .?

She flinched, knowing deep down, loathing the melancholy that surged through her as the realization came to her, creeping into her like a spreading virus, like something that you couldn't see until it was too late—until one was looking over the devastation that was left behind the silent assault.

Ashur . . . deserved more than that, didn't he?  Deserved someone who was whole, complete, and not broken beyond repair . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Trotting along beside Devlin as they skirted the edges of Ashur's property, Jessa frowned as she concentrated on the ground under Stardust's hooves.  There was a hint of rain in the air—a wild sort of feeling that only came just before a storm, and it occurred to her that they ought to head back, but she had the feeling that it wouldn't matter, that they wouldn't make it back before the clouds broke.  Besides, there was a certain electricity in it all, one that she could feel as a current of restless excitement surged through her.  Stardust felt it, too—she could feel him fairly quivering under her.  He was itching to run, but she held him back since she wasn't as sure about the landscape in this area as she wanted to be before allowing him to have his way.

"Are you going to melt if it starts to rain, Lady O'Shea?" Devlin asked, his tone a little drier than normal.

She snorted but grinned at him.  "Why?  Are you afraid of a little water, Dev?"

"Yes," he deadpanned.  "Took me all morning to do my hair, don't you know?  It'll be utterly ruined, and then I won't be able to do a thing with it."

She rolled her eyes.  "Are you gay?  I mean, I don't care if you are . . ."

He grunted, casting her a very dull look.  "No, I'm not," he muttered, kicking his horse a little faster.  "I mean, I am quite fond of my own man parts, but touching someone else's man parts just doesn't really appeal to me . . ."  He brightened suddenly, shot her a wicked grin.  "If I were, though, I might well be quite attracted to your Ashur . . ."

The mention of that name was enough to bring a wash of color to her cheeks as she ducked her chin and hoped that he didn't notice.

She should have known better.  "Oh, a blush?  Does that mean there's been more snogging?"

Her blush deepened as she quickly whipped her face to the side.

Devlin laughed, the ass, and then, he coughed indelicately.  "More than just, uh, snogging, perhaps?"

"Shut up," she muttered, willing her cheeks to cool.  It didn't work.

"Oh, come now, Jessa.  You can tell me," he cajoled.

She snorted.  "I'll set you on fire," she warned.

That threat only made him chuckle.  "And why would you do that when I'm so dead damn funny?"

"Because you're not," she growled.  "Anyway, I don't want to talk about . . . _that_ . . . so, can we move on, please?"

His eyebrows lifted, disappearing beneath the thick fringe of his bangs.  "Oh, my God, there _has_ been more than just snogging!"  Then he laughed, only to hold up his hands in defeat when she leveled a withering glower at him.  "All right; I get it.  No teasing.  Okay.  Just one question?"

She heaved a sigh, mostly because she figured that it wouldn't matter if she said no or not.  "What?"

He chuckled.  "Well, I figure that when you called to ask me to go riding with you that you had something on your mind, and since you've been up to doing more than snogging your Ashur, then I guess you've some kind of question about him, so I'll just cut to the chase and ask you what it is you're wanting my advice about?"

She flinched at the deadly accuracy of his roundabout question and sighed as the horses continued along the slight trail that had been tamped down a few times since Jessa had gotten Stardust.  "I just wondered, you know . . . I . . . I don't understand it.  It's like I cannot think clearly around him, and yet, I don't really know anything about him, either, so it can't be . . . be more . . . I feel like I don't really know him at all . . ."

"Do you have to know everything about him in order for him to be your mate?"  He blinked, smile fading at the confusion that surfaced on Jessa's face.  "He _is_ your mate, isn't he?  I mean, I just assumed . . ."

"I . . . I don't know what he is to me."  She sighed again, brow furrowing as she shook her head, hair falling over the side of her face, hiding her from Devlin's view.  "I don't know what I am to him, either . . . I . . . I don't know _anything_ . . ."

"Maybe," he agreed slowly, sounding just a little too casual in his reply.  "You don't strike me as the kind of woman to simply jump into the sack with just anybody."

She pushed her hair back over her shoulder as the first sprinkles of rain started to fall.  "Did your ma or da ever say what it was like, when they found each other?  My ma only ever really said that I'd know, that I wouldn't be able to help it, and—I'm not saying that Ashur . . . I mean to say, I don't know if . . ." She grimaced.  "There has to be something more to it, right?  Just having a . . . a physical attraction doesn't necessarily mean anything, does it . . .?"

He sighed.  "You're kind of asking the wrong person," he admitted, slowly shaking his head.  "My parents' marriage was arranged.   They've never been true mates in that sense.  Don't get me wrong.  They were very comfortable with one another—at least, until recently . . ."

"Really?"

He shrugged.  "Yeah, but they got married a long, long time ago, and arranged marriages were all the rage back then, or so I've been told . . ."

She detected the slight bitterness in his tone but didn't remark on it.  Too busy, pondering her own situation, she didn't give it much credence.  "I should have asked Ma more about it," she said.  "Whenever she started talking about it, I always told her that I didn't want the sordid details of her and Da's courtship . . ."

"And beating yourself up about it now isn't really going to help," Devlin pointed out gently.  "Listen, Jess, hindsight is always twenty-twenty, right?  And there's really nothing you can do about it now.  All you'll really accomplish is making yourself feel worse about the whole situation.  Your parents, unfortunately, are gone, and there's no way that you can make up for feeling as though you didn't take time to listen to them.  But dwelling on it wouldn't have made them happy, would it?  They'd hate to see you, wasting your time, wallowing in regret, don't you think?  Because they loved you, and when you love someone, you don't want to see them sad or upset or trying to live in the past . . ."

She sighed, pushing her rapidly dampening bangs out of her eyes as the rain fell a little harder, as a rumble of thunder echoed in the air.  "You're right," she allowed, however grudgingly.  "Sometimes I forget that . . ."

He chuckled.  "I'd make a damn fine big brother, wouldn't I?"

She started to laugh, but a sudden movement off to the right drew her up abruptly.  Stardust complained about the sudden stop as she swung off the horse and tossed the reins to Devlin.  She wasn't sure what it was, but she had to look.

"Jessa?" he called, swinging down off his horse, too.  He paused long enough to pat the animal before turning to see exactly what she was investigating.

As she cautiously stepped through the dense grass, she gasped as the movement came again, so rapid, so sudden, that it was hard to discern.  Devlin uttered a low sound, not exactly a gasp, almost more of a bird-type noise, carefully stepping past her as he quickly unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off.

It was a bird—a very large bird—but it wouldn't hold still long enough for Jessa to get a good look at it.  From the way it was floundering around, though, she could tell that it was injured.

Devlin crept up to it, managing not to spook it too much, and carefully dropped his shirt over it before carefully scooping it up, taking extra time to avoid the flailing talons.

"Poor thing," Jessa murmured, hunkering down beside him as he adjusted the shirt to get a better look at the bird's wing.  "What kind is it, do you know?"

He sighed.  "It's a golden eagle," he told her.  "And it's wing is mangled . . ."

She grimaced.  "Mangled?  It . . . It can't be fixed . . .?"

"I don't know," he said.  Adjusting the bird in his arms, he slowly stood.  "I'm going to take it home with me, see if I can help it," he said.  He managed to mount his horse while holding onto the bird, which was no small feat.  "Will you be all right?"

She nodded as she grasped Stardust's reins.  "I'll be fine," she told him.  "Let me know how it's doing!" she called after him as he kicked his horse into a gallop and waved over his shoulder.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Staring out the windows at the darkening sky, at the rain that fell in heavy sheets from the skies.  Nearly five in the evening, and Jessa still hadn't returned from her ride . . . She'd mentioned to him that she was taking Devlin along with her, so he'd figured that she was safe enough.  That was a few hours ago, though, and he was used to her ability to lose track of time while she was out on one of her jaunts, but with the rain coming down so heavily, he couldn't help the gnawing worry that ate at him.

Turning on his heel, he stalked through the living room, pausing just long enough to grab a jacket out of the walk-in closet in the foyer before striding over to the door and yanking it open.  Scowling at the skies as he stepped off the porch and tried to locate her scent, he heaved a heavy sigh in abject frustration.  The wind was blowing just a little too hard to make her scent discernable, and the rain that pelted down seemed to be coming from every conceivable direction.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he willed away the grim emotion that clouded rational thought, concentrated on the vision of her, of her face, extending his youki . . .

Eyes snapping open, he broke into a sprint, heading toward the western boundary of the estate without stopping to question it, without wondering how it was that he knew.

Rounding a thickly overgrown hedge that stood a good twelve feet tall, he slid to a stop when his eyes lit on her.  She held onto Stardust's reins, simply wandering along as though it weren't raining at all.   She was soaked to the skin, her clothing molded to her body—check that.  The dark grey riding breeches already fit her like a second skin above the knee-high leather boots, but the white cotton knit shirt was plastered to her, and if it weren't for her bra, it would have been almost entirely translucent . . .

"Jessa, where the hell have you been?" he demanded, striding over to her, planting himself directly in her path as she stopped.

The look she gave him was impossible to interpret, almost a cross of belligerence with a hint of wariness tossed into the mix.  Whatever it was, it lent her gaze an incandescent glow, a dazzling wash of crimson over midnight as she blinked slowly.  "I was riding," she told him in a tone that indicated that he should have known the answer to that particular question already.

He snorted.  "Yeah? And didn't you say that you were going with that friend of yours?  Devlin?"

She waved a hand, as though the entire discussion were moot.  "We found an injured bird—an eagle, he said—and he took it home to try to help it."  She sighed and stared at him.  "I was on my way home, Ashur, and—"

"Walking?"

She made a face.  "I can't ride him in this.  Mud's dangerous, you realize.  If he were to hurt himself because I was in a rush to get in out of the rain, I'd never forgive myself."

Snapping his mouth closed as he tried to grind down the swell of irritation, he heaved a sigh and stepped aside to allow her to keep walking.  "I don't want you out by yourself, even here," he reminded her.

"I know, and I'm sorry," she told him.  She didn't say anything as they headed back the way he'd come.  Slowly, his irritation was ebbing away.  Glancing at Jessa, he shook his head when he noticed just how wet she actually was.  Hair, plastered to her scalp, hanging in drenched clumps, she pretty well seemed like she did right after she'd stepped out of the shower, only fully clothed, and yet, she'd never seemed quite as beautiful, quite as radiant, as she did at that moment, either.

' _She's something, isn't she?  But you know, Kyouhei, you've got to be careful.  Something as rare, as precious, as she is . . . It'd be way too easy to let her slip through your fingers . . ._ '

Scowling at the strange undercurrent, the warning, in his youkai's words, he shrugged off his jacket and dropped it over her shoulders.  She turned her head, peered up at him, and suddenly, she laughed.

"Something funny?" he asked when she kept giggling.

She waved a hand, fighting back her amusement.  It took another minute for her to get herself under control enough to speak.  "It's just that I'm already drenched to the bone, and you're being chivalrous, giving me your thoroughly drenched jacket," she giggled.

He rolled his eyes, taking the reins of the horse as he gestured at the house.  "Go get dried off.  I'll take him to the stable."

She didn't argue with him, and her laughter lingered in the air as she walked away.

Stardust stomped the ground, danced around almost nervously, feeling the electric crackle in the air seconds before a rumble of thunder, a flash of lightning.  "Easy, easy," Ashur said, stopping long enough to give the beast a reassuring pat before leading him toward the stable.  He was doing a good job, holding it together, even though Ashur could easily feel Stardust's raw nerves.  By the time he reached the stables, Stardust was pawing the ground, tossing his head, basically seeming entirely agitated as Laith hurried over to take him.

"There now," he said in a very soothing tone.  "Come on, let's get you settled down . . ."

"Thanks," Ashur remarked, letting out a deep breath.  "He was fine until I sent Jessa in the house to dry off . . ."

Laith nodded.  "Not surprising," he remarked.  "He's really taken a liking to her."

That didn't really surprise Ashur, either.  He had a feeling that she simply had a way with those horses, didn't she?

"Oh, uh . . . I've been meaning to talk to you.  I wondered if you'd be interested in being master of stables here?  I'm sure Jessa will want more horses, and Thurston said he'd recommend you for the job."

Laith seemed taken aback as he took his time, putting Stardust in his stall before wiping him down with clean, dry towels.  "He did?"

"Said he'd be happy to let you go if you wanted to take a job here.  He said that you're more than qualified to take the position if you want it."  Ashur turned to go, stopping just before he stepped out into the rain once more.  "Think about it and let me know."

"Okay," Laith said, dropping the wet towel and reaching for another.  "I'd like that . . . Might be fun to help grow your stable."

Ashur smiled just a little, and he stepped back out, into the rain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
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> ==========
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>  ** _MMorg  
> _** sutlesarcasm
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> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda+Gauger ——— Okmeamithinknow ——— minthegreen
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> ==========
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>  ** _Forum  
> _** Athena ——— lianned88 ——— cutechick18 ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _That girl_ …


	31. Adjustments

The soft clink of crystal echoed in the quiet living room.  Placing the stopper back into the brandy decanter, Ashur let out a deep breath, a heavy sigh, as his clothing, his hair—pretty much everything—dripped water all over the expensive Turkish rug.

He felt Jessa's aura as she slipped into the living room behind him.  He didn't turn to look at her as he casually sipped the drink.  Common sense told him that he needed to get out of his wet clothing, but he wasn't in a hurry, despite the rather unpleasant way it clung to him.

She said nothing as she slipped past him, pausing long enough to raise a fire on the hearth with little more than a wave of her hand.  The nonchalance with which she accomplished the task brought a vague smile to his lips as he drained the snifter and set it down while she shook out a towel and held it up to the flames, warming it, he supposed, as she slowly turned it from front to back a few times.

She'd changed into a thick, fluffy white robe that almost brushed the floor, her hair still damp but a lot drier than it had been, and when she turned back to face him, he caught himself staring, watching intently as her knees broke through the long slit up the front, baring a demure show of her legs with every step she took.  The somewhat bulky top was crossed over, held closed by the belt at her waist, and even so, the neckline slipped to the side, giving him a very welcome glimpse of her smooth shoulder, of the delicately pronounced collar bones, of the swell of her breasts . . .

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that he was watching her with the same sort of youthful desperation that he'd thought he'd left behind a lifetime or longer ago, and yet, he couldn’t quite stop himself, either.  About the only saving grace of the entire situation was that Jessa herself didn't seem to notice.  So intent she was, as she shook out the towel again, too focused on her own intentions as she slipped behind him, as she tossed the towel over his head, as she grasped the length of his hair in her hands, using the towel to dry the water from it with her gentle ministrations.  She reached up under the towel, using her claw to cut through the band that held his hair in the low hanging ponytail that he usually wore.

She said nothing as she dried his hair, as she gently pulled back the collar of his sodden shirt to pat his neck with the now-dampened towel.  Then she stepped around him, paying him no real attention as she set to work, unbuttoning the shirt, her darkened gaze fixed upon her self-appointed task.  It was on the tip of his tongue, to tell her that he could manage, but the expression on her face stopped him, stilled him.  The vague little hint of a smile that touched the tenderness of her lips, the way her eyes took on a warmth that had very little to do with the dancing fire . . . It was as though some part of her was relishing the base task of seeing to his needs, and something about that warmed him, far more than the fire could . . .

' _When's the last time that anyone has bothered . . .?_ ' he wondered.  ' _How long has it been since someone's wanted to . . . to take care of . . . me . . .?_ '

She gently pushed his shirt off of his shoulders, stepping around to tug the clingy garment off of him.  Then she smiled just slightly as she hurried out of the room again, probably to discard his shirt in the laundry room.  She returned a few minutes later with his robe slung over her arm—he had forgotten that he had one since he never actually wore it—and a small tray with cheese and a crusty loaf of bread, neatly cut and arranged in a small basket.  She left the tray on the coffee table before shaking out his robe, repeating the process of warming it, front and back.

He let her help him put it on, simply stood still as she pulled it closed, tied the belt around him.  Then she frowned thoughtfully, as though she couldn't quite make up her mind.  Finally, though, she reached through the folds of the robe and unfastened his pants, her hands warm, almost comforting, highly enthralling, as she slipped them down over his hips, down his legs, managing only a slight flush as she waited for him to step out of them and for his soggy socks before hurrying out of the room with those, too.

He chuckled softly, watching her exit, wondering in a rather distracted kind of way if she was as naked under her robe as he was . . .

Heaving a sigh—this one, a lot more indulgent than the earlier one had been—he retrieved a bottle of wine from the cooler in the wetbar and uncorked it, letting it breathe for a minute as he grabbed a couple of wine goblets and headed over to the sofa.

She padded back into the living room, slipping around the sofa to finish toweling his hair dry, her fingers massaging his scalp in an entirely welcome sort of way.  She took her time, obviously enjoying the idea that her care was something he allowed, even savored . . .

 

" _'Down by the salley gardens_ ,  
' _My love and I did meet_ ;  
' _She passed the salley gardens_ ,  
' _With little snow-white feet_.  
' _She bid me take love easy_ ,  
' _As the leaves grow on the tree_ ;  
' _But I, being young and foolish_ ,  
' _with her did not agree_. 

" _'In a field by the river_ ,  
' _My love and I did stand_ ,  
' _And on my leaning shoulder_ ,  
' _She laid her snow-white hand_.  
' _She bid me take life easy_ ,  
' _As the grass grows on the weirs_ ;  
' _But I was young and foolish_ ,  
' _And now am full of tears_ …'"

 

As her song ended, Ashur turned, caught her hand as he pulled away the towel and dropped it on the floor.  "You sing to me?" he said quietly, tugging her into his lap, tucking her against his shoulder, stroking her hair with a gentle hand.

She didn't laugh, but the sound that she uttered was close.  "My da used to sing that to me every night before bed," she told him, her voice soft, a little sad, mostly amused.  "Didn't your ma and da sing to you?"

"N . . . No," he said, watching her hand as she reached up, as she twirled a strand of his hair around her finger.  "They didn't . . ." He shrugged, as though it were of no real consequence.  "My parents . . . were nothing like yours," he admitted.

She digested that for a minute, her brow furrowed as she contemplated what he'd said.  In a way, he regretted saying as much as he had, and yet, somehow, it felt right that he would tell her that much.  "You don't talk about them," she ventured, inflicting just enough nonchalance that he knew that she was trying to not dig too deeply, and, while he appreciated it, he also had to wonder if he didn't owe her some small explanation.  "Is that why you adopted Kells?"

Gritting his teeth as the inevitable tableaux played through his head at warp speed, he reminded himself that it was Jessa, that she really didn't know, that maybe . . . Even so, he had to clear his throat, had to literally tamp down the surge of irrational anger, and he sighed.  "Otou-san died before Kells was born.  Okaa-san died just . . . just after . . ."

She frowned at the terms she didn't understand.  "Otou-san?  Okaa-san?"

"Uh, Father," he said.  "He died first.  Okaa-san—Mother—she died after Kells was born."

"I'm so sorry," she breathed, snuggling closer to him, as though she were trying to comfort him, which was entirely laughable, if he stopped to think about it.  Comfort him . . .?  When he'd played at least a part in the whole thing?  Maybe he wasn't directly responsible, but the truth was that he certainly shared in the guilt when there was more than enough to spread around . . .

And maybe it was that lingering guilt that prompted him to sigh, to slowly shake his head.  "They . . . They weren't nice people, Jessa," he told her quietly, the unmistakable hostility in his tone tempered by an underlying regret—regret that things had ultimately ended up the way they had—regret that he hadn't been able to do a thing, but watch the debacle as it had unfolded . . . "They're . . . They're dead because of . . . of me," he went on.

She leaned away, frowned up at him, shaking her head as she searched his face for some hint of what he was trying to say.  "Is that what you think?" she asked, the incredulity in her tone, unmistakable.

He shook his head, his gaze falling away as he gently, firmly pulled her hands down, as he set her aside and stood up.  "It's the truth," he said, turning away, unable to look her in the eye, to see her expression turn to one of abject disgust—or worse: one of blind faith, even compassion—as though he really merited her compassion.  He didn't want it.  He didn't _deserve_ it, and Jessa . . .

"I haven't known you very long," she said.  From the sound of her voice, he could tell that she was still on the sofa, and that was fine.  "But I've known you long enough to understand that you're a good man—a _decent_ man, Ashur Philips . . . and whatever it was that happened . . . Are you sure that it really belongs to you?"

He sighed.  "Can we . . .?  Can we drop it?" he asked.  He didn't want to hear her assessment, didn't want her to praise him when all he could see in the scope of his head was the blood, the hateful, horrifying blood, and all he could hear was the echo of a crying infant . . .

"All right," she allowed with a soft sigh of her own.  When he finally glanced over his shoulder at her, it was to see her, sitting with her knees drawn up, poking out of the confines of her robe as she stared absently at the floor, as she twisted her hair over and over again.

Closing his eyes, he made himself draw a few deep breaths, willing away the dark emotions that always surfaced when he delved too deeply into that particular part of his life.  She was curious, and he could understand that, he supposed, even if he wished that she'd just leave that alone.  After taking a few minutes to compose himself a little more, he wandered back over, took his time, pouring wine into the glasses before handing one to her and cutting off a small slice of cheese to offer her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was late.

He didn't know how late; he hadn't looked at the clock in awhile.  He just knew that it was one of those nights when he couldn't sleep.  There was no real reason for it, no real meaning behind it.  It just happened every once in awhile, that he would lie there in bed, listening to her sleep, watching her with a vague smile on his face as the silent house seemed to exist in perfect harmony with her, and it was in those moments that he realized, as he had so many times, and would again, he was sure, just what a lucky bastard he truly was—something he'd known for years—something he never wanted to forget.

Even so, as the minutes dragged into hours, as the house around him settled into the same welcome cadence that he loved, he'd decided to get up, to retire to his office because if he stayed with her in bed, he'd end up waking her, which would be entirely selfish, given that the triplets had been up way too late the night before, and he knew damn well that she was exhausted . . .

Letting out a deep breath as he read through a hunt recommendation, Cain rubbed his temple, hesitating, just like always, before reaching for his stamp—his official seal—that would formally approve the request.

The sudden and shattering sound of the telephone startled Cain, and he jumped as he grabbed the handset before it could ring a second time.  This particular line wouldn't ring anywhere else in the house, but the overly harsh sound of it in the quiet was enough to make him grit his teeth as he lifted the receiver to his ear.  "Zelig," he said, his tone a bit harsher than usual.

"I'm returning your call."

It took a moment for Cain to place the voice, but the very thick Scottish brogue helped.  "MacDonnough, good of you to call me back, given that I called you . . . over a week ago?"

"I'm a busy man, Zelig.  Unlike some tai-youkai, I do not rely upon others to take care of my jurisdiction . . . What do you want?"

Cain grunted, ignoring the intentional slight.  "It was brought to my attention that the accident report regarding Orlaith Daugherty-O'Shea is incomplete, so I thought I'd ask you about it."

"O'Shea," MacDonnough repeated.  "She's no concern of yours."

"She is when her daughter is in my jurisdiction.  She is when I'm approving her request for amnesty."

"Her daughter has petitioned you for amnesty?"

"No, she hasn't.  Her cousin did, though, and her cousin has the right, given that she arrived before her eighteenth birthday—and given that you've dragged your feet in releasing her estate from escrow.  Since both her parents died, the entirety of the estate should have been released to her weeks ago.  Tell me what the holdup is."

He could tell from the pregnant silence that MacDonnough was very likely close to snapping.  Cain didn't really care.  "Her father left no will," MacDonnough replied in a very clipped done of voice.  "Her estate will remain in escrow until such time that she marries, and then the entirely of it will be released to her husband."

"But I hear that there is a will," Cain replied just as smoothly, "and I hear that you have it."

"You heard wrong."

"Did I?"

"What could I possibly have to gain by lying about it?" MacDonnough scoffed.

Cain chuckled rather nastily.  "What, indeed, Ian?  Unless you wanted to hand her over like a sacrificial lamb to one of your men?  Maybe someone you think is loyal to you and you alone?  Sound about right?"

Ian chuckled just as nastily in rebuttal.  "Delusional, as always, Zelig," he replied dryly.  "Do not presume to tell me how to do things in _my_ jurisdiction.  In fact, why don't you have the girl give my office a call so we can discuss the matter directly."

"I don't think so," Cain replied.  "She's given me permission to speak to you on her behalf.  There's reason to believe that you're a little too interested in where, exactly, she is.  In any case, why don't you tell me where the results are of the vehicle safety check are since Orlaith O'Shea had that done less than a week before her . . . accident . . .?"

"I have no control over what is or isn't in the report, Zelig.  Surely you know this."

"Actually, the only thing I know is that those safety reports must be filed every six months, and failure to file one results in suspension of the car's registration, and since there was no registration violation on file with the authorities, it means that the report was filed.  I also know it's standard practice to include a copy of that report in any accident report, too, which means that this one is missing.  I want to know where it is, and I want to see it as soon as possible."

Ian grunted.  "You're overstepping yourself, Zelig.  Best you back off."

"Release her estate, and I will," Cain replied just as easily.

He was backed into a corner, and he knew it.  Unfortunately, Ian MacDonnough never was one for stepping away from a blatant challenge.  "I owe you nothing in the way of explanation," he growled.  "And if that's all you wanted, then you've wasted your time."

He hung up, and Cain sighed as he dropped the receiver into the cradle and sat back.

"Okay," he muttered, reaching for the phone again.  Knowing that ass, he thought that he'd had the last word, but Cain would be damned if he was ready to let it go, all things considered.  A young woman's life was quite literally on the line, and there was no way he was going to let her down . . . "Time to call your bluff . . ."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

" _They're_ . . . _They're dead because of . . . of me_ . . ."

Jessa frowned, staring at the same page of the book she'd been looking at for the last hour while Ashur went over some paperwork that he said couldn't wait.  Leaning against the arm of the sofa with her feet up, she peered over the top of the book without lifting her head, trying to make sense of what he'd said.

It didn't make any sense.  Ashur . . . He was a lot of things, and she was slowly coming to understand some of the aspects of his nature that she hadn't really been able to before, but it seemed like she had a thousand more questions for every one answer she received . . .

Yet she knew, didn't she?  No matter what he thought, she _did_ know.  He was decent, and he was kind.  He certainly wasn't the type of person who could have or would have done anything to hurt his family, at least, not intentionally . . .

' _You don't really know that, do you?  I mean, there are so many things that could have happened—things you know nothing about, Jessa.  There could be something to what he's saying.  He believes it, and that's the most important thing._ '

' _No, he wouldn't . . . Ashur wouldn't . . ._ '

Her youkai chuckled.  ' _An awful lot of faith you have in him, don't you?  Not that that's a bad thing.  It isn't.  The question is . . . what are you going to do for him now?_ '

' _Do for him . . . now . . .?_ '

' _You saw for yourself, just how much your questions bothered him.  He answered them, for the most part, but you don't honestly think that he's okay now, do you?_ '

Scowling as he read through some sort of report, Ashur leaned forward, grabbed his wine goblet without looking up, but he didn't lift it to his lips right away, and Jessa sat up, let the book drop to the floor as she scooted over to him, took the glass from his hand.

He turned his head slightly, raising an eyebrow as he watched her lift the glass to her lips, as she took a deep drink and set the glass on the table before reaching out, taking his paperwork, letting it fall on the floor, too.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding a little more indulgent than irritated, turning slightly when she crawled onto his lap. 

She smiled just a little as she pulled him down for a kiss, as she rose up on her knees, grasping his face in her hands.  He opened his lips under hers, and she sighed, letting the wine in her mouth flow into his.  He groaned softly.  She could feel him swallow just before the crush of his kiss deepened, as his tongue flicked against her lips . . .

He tugged at the belt of her robe, and it fell open.  He pushed it off her shoulders, down her arms, baring her skin for his touch: the drag of his fingers on her shoulders, on her back, the gentle scrape of his claws over the rises and hollows of her flesh.  She leaned against him, whimpering softly at way his robe chafed against her overly sensitive nipples.  Her flesh felt as though it were on fire—or that he was the fire, and she was just a little too close, and yet, not nearly close enough . . . He slipped his hands under her bottom, pulling her flush against him, lifting her slightly as her head fell back, as his mouth fell on her throat, savoring the taste of her: suckling, nuzzling, breathing her in deep . . .

Squeezing her ass, he took his time, massaging her flesh in slow circles as she slipped her hands beneath his robe, as she held onto his shoulders, as though she'd disintegrate if she let go.  Every nerve in her body centered on him, on his touch, on the things that he made her feel, and if she could just get closer—just a little closer . . .

He shifted slightly, wrapped his arms around her, lowered her down onto the sofa, kissing her collarbones, her throat, the rise of her breasts, moving his body against hers, creating a friction, a heat that shot through her, straight to the part of her that ached for him, for the sense of utter completion that she knew he'd give her.  Lavishing kisses on her breasts, sucking her nipples in deep as his tongue smoothed over her, teasing her body as she arched her back, as she struggled to breathe, he slipped a finger deep into quivering body, chuckling against her as she gasped, as she writhed, as she opened herself completely to him . . .

He arched up away from her, long enough to untie his robe, to shrug it off.  It fell onto the floor, held on by only the one arm, but he pulled his finger out of her, eliciting a whine of protest from her, shaking off the robe before turning his attention back to her again.  "Did you bring down a condom?" he asked her.

She blinked a few times, struggling to clear her head despite the lust that ran rampant through her body.  As though in a daze, she nodded.  "In my robe . . ." she replied breathlessly.

He reached over to snag her robe, fumbling around until he located the condoms she'd slipped into the pocket.  Dropping them on the table, he let his gaze rake over her.  Her skin flushed under his very blatant perusal, and she brought her knees together in an almost embarrassed sort of way.

He chuckled again as he slipped his hands under her knees and gently tugged them apart, and she couldn't help the way her breath hitched as he stared at her in utter fascination.  "Damn," he breathed,  his voice as unsteady as she felt inside.  He reached out slowly, dragged one finger up through the pulsing divide, set off an explosion inside her as she reared up, as she uttered a guttural moan, as she shivered and shook . . .

The spasms of pleasure that rocked through her lengthened, intensified.  Something warm, something wet, plunged into her, lapped at her, shoved her over that precarious precipice once more as she half-cried, half moaned again and again.  So concentrated, so close to pleasure that it bordered on pain as she opened her eyes long enough to understand that he was kneeling there, between her legs, tasting her in long, deep strokes of his tongue.  The intensity wrung his name from her lips as she tossed and writhed, unsure if she were trying to move closer or if she were trying to get away, and he was relentless, unfazed by her sweet torment, as she begged him over and over again . . .

Closing his lips over the part of her that triggered her passion, he kissed her deeply, flicking his tongue, faster and faster as she screamed, as she jerked, as the world exploded around her one more time, just once more . . .

And she was still reeling from the intensity of her release, heard the crinkle of the condom packet in a dazed and distant sort of way, dizzy from the waves of pleasure that still coursed through her when he plunged into her, when he slammed himself in so deep, so hard, that she screamed again as the pleasure overcame her once more.  He slipped his arms under her, lifted her up as he fell back, leaving her straddling him as she furiously ground her body against his, time and again, as that heat, as that friction built once more.  He groaned under her, he moaned harshly between his own stunted breaths, his hands closing on her hips, driving her down hard, over and over again.  She fell back, caught herself on her hands, braced on his thighs, rising and falling as he lifted his hips, meeting her thrusts with his body.  Yanking her down hard, time after time, she could feel the pressure building, could feel the thickening of his cock so deep inside her, and with one last thrust, one last crack of her body meeting his, he lifted his hips once more, jerked her down against him, calling out her name as he twitched and pulsed in her, as she careened over the edge into the vale of bliss, convulsing around him, with him, for him . . .

She fell forward against his chest, and he caught her, wrapping her tightly in his arms.  The wild and unsteady beats of their hearts in perfect symmetry with each other.  He kissed her forehead, groaning softly, as they both slowly drifted back down to earth . . .

"Ashur?" she whispered, eyes closed as she reveled in the feeling of being so very near him, listening to the sound of his beating heart.

"Hmm?"

She sighed, snuggling against him, wishing in vain that it could would stay like this forever.  "Don't . . . Don't let me go . . ."

He sighed softly, gently, stirring her bangs as he tightened his hold on her.  "I won't," he said, his voice thick, sleepy.  "I . . . I won't . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Down by the Salley Gardens_** _: Originally a poem by William Butler Yeats, that became an Irish folk song_.
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
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>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader ——— smpnst
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>  ** _AO3  
> _** minthegreen ——— ShiroNeko316
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— lovethedogs ——— cutechick18
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _Nice_ …


	32. Altercation

Ashur yawned, leaning on his elbow, head propped on his fist, smiling slightly as he watched Jessa sleep.  Hair in a tangle, falling around her like a fiery cloud, skin glowing in the hazy and thin light of the burgeoning dawn that spilled through the window, she shivered just a little, and he pulled the blanket up over her shoulder as she huddled closer to him, burying her face against his chest.

Just what the hell was he doing?

Letting out a deep breath as his smile shifted into a thoughtful frown, he heard the voice in the back of his head: the one that told him he really needed to stop giving in, to stop taking advantage of what she readily offered.  It was a dangerous territory he was treading, and he knew it.  The thing was, he simply couldn't stop himself, not when she was within kissing distance . . .

Still, he couldn’t quite shake the thought that plagued him when she wasn't right in front of him: the base knowledge that he really wasn't good for her, not in the way that she needed.  She was rare, special, beautiful, and he . . .

He had a terrible habit of ruining people, didn't he?

' _If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Kyouhei: what happened with your parents . . . That was inevitable, you realize.  They were wrong—dead wrong—and what happened was a direct result of their choices, not yours.  You did what you felt was right, and you know that if you had to do it all over again, you wouldn't change any of that . . . And Hana?  How would you ever have thought that she'd do what she did?  None of that is on you.  Why do you insist upon keeping it?_ '

He grimaced.  He'd wondered that so many times, hadn't he?  Wondered . . . Had he not gone to Ben, had he kept what he knew to himself . . . But then, if he hadn't spoken up, if he hadn't stepped forward when he did, who knew what the ultimate cost would have been, and, in the end, he'd have been just as guilty as his parents, and he knew that, too.

It didn't really help him to sleep at night, though.

Staring at Jessa's face for another minute, he leaned down, kissed her temple, and slipped out of bed, careful not to let too much air under the blankets.  She stirred  just a little, a tiny scowl surfacing at the loss of his warmth, he figured.  Still, he smiled—no more than a slight upturn to his lips—and headed into the bathroom for a shower.

' _So, what do you think you're going to do?  It's a little too late to try to step away from her now, anyway, and if you tried, you know you'd hurt her.  Even if you tried to say that it was for her own good, she'd never understand that . . . Besides, you're missing the bigger picture here._ '

Snorting indelicately as he stepped under the shower flow, Ashur shook his head as he closed his eyes to wet down his hair.  ' _What bigger picture?_ '

His youkai chuckled rather nastily.  ' _If you tried to back away from her now, do you honestly think you could stand to see someone else step in to take your place?_ '

' _That won't happen._ '

' _The hell it wouldn't.  If you let go of her, you think that it wouldn't just be a matter of time before she found someone else?  Someone who'd be more than willing to do what you do for her?_ '

' _That's ridiculous._ '

' _So you say.  Tell me why you're growling then._ '

Ashur blinked as the growl that he didn't know he was making cut off abruptly, and he sighed as a pair of arms snaked around his waist, as a warm body pressed against his back.  "Did I wake you?"

Jessa shook her head as she let her arms drop away, then shrugged.  "No . . . Maybe . . . I guess so . . ."

He chuckled at her sleepy reply, stepping back to allow her to stand under the warmth of the flowing tap.  "This might be a bad idea . . . You're not going to drown, are you?"

She waved him off, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand.  "I'm awake," she told him, sounding anything but.  Then she slipped her arms around his waist again, content to close her eyes as she snuggled against his chest.

"This is kind of awkward," he pointed out after kissing her forehead.

"Mm . . . Why are you up so early?" she asked, ignoring his hint.

"I couldn’t sleep," he said.

"Oh?  You could have woke me up, if you were still wanting to do _that_ . . ."

He chuckled.  "I have trouble falling asleep when you're snoring," he told her.

Her arms dropped away almost instantly as she leaned back and shot him a quelling look.  "I don't snore!"

He nodded.  "You do.  Don't worry.  Most nights, it's just a low snore, but when you drink wine?  It's a lot louder."

She looked entirely chagrined.  "I don't snore!" she insisted again.

He shrugged and shot her an apologetic kind of look as he reached for the shampoo and squeezed a glob into his hand.  "Okay," he said, in what could only be described as an entirely indulgent tone of voice, "you don't snore."

She snorted.

"You just breathe really loudly . . . through your nose."

Her adorable face wrinkled up into a very irritated scowl as she smacked him in the chest with a sopping wet washcloth.  He laughed.  She snorted again.

"It's only bad when you drink wine, I swear," he told her.

She started to step out of the shower.  He caught her with a soapy hand and tugged her back, taking his time as he lathered her hair.  She uttered a terse little, 'hrmph', but allowed him to wash her hair.  He'd figured out in the last couple weeks that she really seemed to enjoy it when he did this for her, and, given that he had a weird fixation on her hair, he didn't mind it, either.

"Kells will be home in a couple days," she mused.

"He will," Ashur agreed.  Truth be told, he missed the child terribly.

"What . . . What will we do when he's back?"

He stopped for a second as he considered her question.  He hadn't actually thought about that.  "I could just . . . come visit you at night," he mused.  "I mean, Kells normally doesn't get into bed with me until nearly morning . . ."

He could tell by the way her back stiffened, by the way her youki suddenly pulled in tight around her that she hadn't liked his answer.  "Y . . .Yeah," she said.  "I guess . . . I mean, he's too young to . . . to understand . . ."

Taking his time as he rinsed her hair, he frowned, hating the idea that he'd upset her, even if she did understand the logic in it.  "Jessa, you know that I wouldn't . . . I wouldn't ask that of you if Kells—"

"I know," she interrupted.  "You're right . . . Kells is more important.  He's just a little boy . . ."

He grimaced inwardly at the smile she gave him.  It was bright enough to fool most people, maybe . . . But he was looking into her eyes, wasn't he?  And he didn't miss the flash of pain that she'd tried to hide.  Sure, she understood.  That didn't mean that it didn't sting . . .

He sighed.  He'd just have to find a way to make it up to her, he supposed—find a way to make her see just how special she was to him . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Bas Zelig stood in the beautiful but very cold foyer of the ancient castle, bracing himself for the altercation that he was positive would be anything but cordial.  After the phone call he'd gotten from his father just a few days ago to catch him up on the situation, he couldn't help but wonder just how well he was going to be received.  He was sure that it wasn't going to be pleasant, but the fact that Cain had sent him was telling.  It only meant that Cain was almost past his tolerance level—something that rarely happened, ever.

A very pronounced throat-clearing drew his attention, and Bas turned on his heel to face the old weasel-youkai butler.  "Lord MacDonnough will see you now," he said, managing to look entirely offended by Bas' very presence as he bowed in a mocking show of deference to the future North American tai-youkai.

Seeing no way around it, Bas followed the man down the long hallway.  As they passed a room with glass doors that were closed, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a young girl—no more than perhaps seventeen or eighteen—sitting at a piano, playing a somewhat haunting melody.  He didn't see her face, but he saw the long, chestnut brown hair, the girl's profile.  It was her—Meara's sister—had to be, but he didn't have time to think about it too much as the door almost directly across the hallway swung open, as the butler gestured for Bas to enter.

MacDonnough stepped out of the door on the far side of the opulent office, chestnut brown hair catching the miserly light that siphoned through the bank of windows off to the side.  Cold gray eyes rose to lock with his, an understated loathing—not surprising, considering how well-documented the idea that MacDonnough hated hanyou, humans, and Bas in particular, he figured . . . "What do you want, son of the Zelig?" MacDonnough demanded without preamble and without offering Bas even a semblance of pleasantries that should have been forthcoming.

Bas crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the heavy drag of Triumvirate on his hip.  "The North American tai-youkai sent me to retrieve the report that is missing from the accident file—and to secure the release of Jessamyn O'Shea's estate."

Ian's chuckle was downright nasty, fully of utter contempt, of barely contained loathing.  "I shall tell you what I told him: everything in that report is everything I was given.  As for the girl's estate?  She is one of my natives.  He has no right to demand a thing."

Bas nodded slowly, refusing to stoop to the level of showing the man his own derision for what he was, for what he stood for.  "I'm sure that you were made aware that she is being granted amnesty—and I'm sure you're well aware that, as a condition of that, you are required by our laws to relinquish your hold on her estate.  Since the Zelig assume responsibility for her from  here on out, all things that are currently in dispute fall to him to make any ultimate judgment calls at her behest."  Letting his arms drop, he cocked his head to the side, leveled a no-nonsense look at the European tai-youkai.  "The game's up, MacDonnough.  I'll take all records of her holdings, all statements as to her accounts being held in escrow . . ."

MacDonnough looked angry enough to lash out, but he managed to keep his temper in check.  "She is betrothed to one of my men," he bit out.  "It's a contract almost as binding as blood already.  The actual mating is a mere formality, and since the girl's father left no will, no directives, then her estate is not hers any longer—it belongs to her future husband and mate.  The Zelig cannot touch it, and I suggest that you tell me where you're hiding her."

"The only betrothal that she was offered, her father declined it on her behalf," Bas reminded Ian in a calm, even tone of voice.

"Incidentals—not that it's any of your concern.  The girl will marry Duke Portsmouth's son, and that's that."  He shot Bas a very nasty, very insincere grin.  "In this region, my people do not ignore my edicts.  It's the right of the tai-youkai."

"You can shove your rights right up your ass, MacDonnough.  Should your man set foot in North America—should he come anywhere near Jessamyn O'Shea?  Then he'd be taking his life into his own hands.  We will not force a girl into a mating she doesn't want—not for you, not for your office, and not in our jurisdiction."

"You have no right to stop it," he growled.

Bas snorted indelicately.  "I'll say it once more, you old bastard.  Your stance doesn't hold water, MacDonnough, and should you think to send your man over, to have him find her and force the issue?  Rape is not something that we will tolerate.  You understand, don't you . . .?  After all, we live in the twenty-first century over there . . ."

Ian snorted, stalking past Bas, and over to the wetbar where he sloshed a good amount of gin and tonic water into a glass, entirely ignoring Bas as he slugged it down and slammed the glass onto the counter once more.  "No, you are the one who doesn't understand.  This is _my_ jurisdiction!  In this place, _my_ word is the beginning and the end.  Your threats don't concern me.  Now, get out of here before I am forced to make an example of you."

"I'd like to see you try," Bas scoffed, his voice dropping in volume as he gritted his teeth together and glowered at the youkai.  "I'm not leaving _your_ jurisdiction until I get what I came for."

"Then might I suggest that you make yourself right at home?  Because I will not turn over her holdings—not to your father or to anyone else—except her future mate."

"Do you think that's wise?  Would you really make this big of a fuss over a girl's inheritance?  What's in it for you?"

"There is nothing in it for me," MacDonnough scoffed.

"Is that right?  So, you're not just trying to strengthen your position in any way  you see fit, even if it goes against everything that youkai are taught—everything that we believe?"

"You are no youkai," MacDonnough spit out, narrowing his cold gaze on Bas, making no bones about his absolute loathing of everything that Bas was—and everything he was not.  "You dare to try to lecture me?"

"No, I don't," Bas replied in kind.  "And you're right: I'm nothing at all like you.  I wouldn't ever presume to try to dictate people's lives for my own gain.  That's something only someone like you would try to do."

"You know nothing," Ian growled.  "Now, be gone from here.  We have nothing further to discuss."

"Then we're at an impasse . . ." Bas nodded slowly.  "All right . . ." He headed for the door, stopped with his hand, resting on the handle.  "You have my cell number.  You'll be all right with me, conducting my own inquest into Orlaith O'Shea's death.  Oh, and I believe that the girl in question told the Zelig the exact name of the auto mechanic who signed off on the vehicle safety report—the one that _isn't_ in the accident file.  I'm going to start my inquiry there."

He slipped out of the office and didn't bother waiting for the butler to show him out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ashur sat back in his chair in the opulent restaurant.  He hadn't chosen it, had left it up to Jessa, and she'd decided that she wanted to try out this place.  Understated yet elegant, not quite as stuffy as most French restaurants tended to be, it combined a lot of Quebec's quaint air with the more refined feel of some of the European places that Ashur had visited before, too.

At least this one, _Le Petit Québec_ , had a more relaxed atmosphere, which is why they hadn't had to get dressed to the nines—and might have been why he hadn't had to call to secure a reservation, either.  The food, however, was absolutely excellent, even though Jessa had spent the majority of the time, simply picking at her food and not actually eating very much . . .

But she'd been rather quiet all day, ever since their shower this morning.  He had no idea, just what was on her mind, either, and when he asked, she smiled, told him that everything was, 'fine, just fine' . . .

Hair swept up at the sides into a cascade of rioting fiery curls that tumbled down her back, softened by the tendrils that she'd left hanging to frame her alabaster skin, she still looked dead damn gorgeous in the simple crimson dress that fell from her shoulders in a whisper of gossamer layers, drifting around her body in a wholly sinful kind of way . . . The simple sheathe dress with spaghetti straps underneath was a lustrous burgundy, with the overlay of yards of flowing sheer fabric, of billowing sleeves that brushed her upper arms just above her elbows, almost like an old fashioned dressing gown, but far, far more provocative . . .

Or maybe it was simply Jessa herself that added that to the overall feel . . . He'd realized it before—would have had to be daft not to—just how sensuous everything about her tended to be.  Whether she intended to give that impression or not, there it was . . .

He cleared his throat, drew her attention as she gave up the pretext of eating and set her silverware aside.  "Did I buy you that dress?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as a hint of a smile quirked his lips.

She glanced down and shrugged.  "No . . . I bought it when I was out with Carol in the city . . ."

"New York?"

"Yes . . . why?"

He nodded slowly.  "Money well spent.  Feel free to buy as many as you want.  Have them bill me."

She rolled her eyes, but smiled.  "You're a strange man, Ashur Philips . . ."

Shaking his head, he shrugged offhandedly.  "I just appreciate a beautiful woman," he told her, hiding his amusement at the instant and vivid blush that rose to stain her cheeks at his compliment.  "So, what would you like to do next, Jessa?"

She frowned at his question, as though she wasn't entirely certain of what he meant.

He sighed.  "I told you, didn't I?  We'd do whatever you wanted tonight," he told her.  "We could walk around, see the sights . . . I've been told that Old Quebec is most definitely worth seeing . . . Laith mentioned that there are a number of clubs down in this area—a few cabaret clubs like in the old days, even a dance hall or two dedicated to the more formal dances that you're quite familiar with, aren't you?"

A strange sort of air filtered over her face, settled into a darkness in her gaze, one that he couldn't rightfully interpret, and though she smiled at him, it was almost as though that guarded expression—the one he hadn't seen in her gaze in months—was back, and with a vengeance.  "W-Whatever you'd like to do is fine," she said, her tone taking on a far more prim, far more proper tone than he could credit.

He opened his mouth to ask her, just what was bothering her, but the sudden intrusion of an entirely too-familiar youki drew him up straight, snapped up his chin as he scanned the restaurant, as his gaze lit on _her_ —as his brain slowed to a crawl.  ' _N . . . No . . ._ '

"Ashur?"

He heard Jessa's voice, but it seemed so far away, and in that moment, he couldn't quite drag his gaze off the one person—the one woman—he'd never wanted to see again.

As though she sensed his proximity—she probably did—she slowly looked up, those dark eyes of hers seeking his out as the color drained from her face, as her eyes flared wide in silent recognition.  Sitting across the restaurant with some man that he didn't recognize, he saw her—as his entire world erupted in a haze of red—of blood and rage and hateful sorrow . . .

He wanted to get up, to walk out of the restaurant—needed to put more space between himself and her—but his body wouldn't move, rooted to the spot, unable to do a thing as he watched her stand up, slipping between the tables, the expression on her face one of carefully composed nothingness, and only her eyes bespoke the anxiety that he could feel in her youki.  The one woman he'd never wanted to see again . . .

"H . . . Hana . . ." he murmured as she stopped beside him.

"Kyouhei-sama . . ." she greeted, bowing slightly at the waist, her tone well-polished, just a hint of her emotion punctuating her words.  "How . . . How are you?" she asked in her native Japanese.

"What are you doing here, Hana?" he demanded, his voice clipped, obdurately quiet.

She flinched just slightly, but managed to cover it up just as quickly.  "I'm here with a . . . a friend," she said.  "He's here on business . . . I didn't know . . ."

"I was clear, wasn't I?" he gritted out.  "Do you think I was joking about not wanting to see you?"

She cleared her throat, took an involuntary step back.  "You . . . You look well," she said, flicking a hand as though she were ready to make her excuses to leave.  "How . . . How's the . . . the baby?  Your brother . . .?"

"You have no right to ask that," he told her.  "Walk away, Hana.  Do it now."

She somehow managed a wry little smile, nodded quickly at Jessa, who was staring at them both in very real confusion, probably because she didn't understand a word of the exchange that had passed between them.  Hana still tried to smile at Ashur, who made no move to even attempt any kind of pleasantry.  Before he could think twice about it, though, he stood up, dropped a handful of money on the table as he turned on his heel to leave.  The only thing that registered in his head was that he had to get out of there, had to distance himself from her—from Hana—had to escape the unspent emotion that thundered in his head—in his brain . . .

The harsh streetlights against the mild summer evening made him blink as he stepped outside the restaurant, as he struggled for a semblance of calm that he simply didn't have.  A gentle hand touched his elbow, and he whipped around, raising a hand, ready to strike down whoever it was that dared to touch him in that moment, only to stop, to blink, when he met Jessa's concerned gaze.  She gasped softly, stepped back away from him, eyes wide, almost frightened . . .

Drawing a deep breath, he forced himself to look at her, allowed the sight of her to calm the frayed edges of his nerves, and before he could stop to think about it, he dragged her into his arms, held her tight, willing her to soothe him.  It occurred to him that, on some level, he was being entirely selfish, and yet, the balm of her aura was enough, gradually pulling him back into himself.  She didn't know, didn't understand, and, at least, at the moment, it was entirely beyond him to offer her any kind of explanation—not when the emotions were too high, too sharp, too prevalent . . .

But she wrapped her arms around him, asked him nothing as he held onto her.  His ragged breathing slowly returned to normal as he ignored the curious glances of the people that passed by them.

It felt like forever before he trusted himself to loosen his grip on her, but he leaned back, gently smoothed the hair out of her face, managed a very thin smile as she gazed up at him through a veil of concern.  "Sorry," he said, leaning down, kissing her forehead.  "Do you . . .?  Do you want to go for a walk?"

She stared at him for another long moment, the questions awash in her eyes, but she said nothing and nodded instead, letting him take her hand, letting him lead her away from the restaurant.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was late.  She knew that without having to look at the clock, judging from the elongated shadows that made up the night that filtered through the French doors, the windows that lined the wall.  The layers of darkness combined, casting an insular pall over the familiarity of Ashur's bedroom as she lay perfectly still, afraid to allow the comfort of being so near to him permeate the thoughts that swirled around in her head—fearing the isolation that never felt very far away . . . feeling as though she were existing on someone else's time and knowing that this feeling was entirely too fleeting, too precarious, and not really meant to be hers . . .

Stupid, wasn't it?  Allowing herself to be taken like this, letting herself give in so many times, and yet knowing in the back of her mind that Ashur . . .

But that woman in the restaurant . . . Just who was she?  Gorgeous, she was, in such an exotic way—her hair so black that it shone blue in the ambient light of the electric candles, of the crystal chandeliers, her eyes so dark, so mysterious—and so full of pain that even Jessa could feel it.  In those moments, she'd ceased to exist as the obvious connection between the two of them precluded Jessa and everything else around them, and she really hadn't had to understand their conversation to know that somehow . . . Somehow, that woman . . . She'd hurt him badly . . .

So why was it that Jessa simply hadn't been able to ask him, didn't have it in her to question him when she knew deep down that it would cause him more anguish?  As they'd wandered around Old Quebec, as he'd tried to act like he was fine . . .

And they'd barely made it through the front door of the house when he'd grabbed her, kissed her, unleashed all his emotion in a physical act that had left her breathless and clinging—as some small part of her reveled in it . . .

As some small part of her had felt as though she were dying just a little . . .

And she hated that, didn't she?  Hated the unwelcome thought that she were little more than an object to him: something he could use to exorcise the demons that haunted his mind because . . . because that wasn't who he was, and if she thought that way, if she really believed that . . .

Blinking fast, willing away the unbidden tears that stung her eyelids, she swallowed hard, struggled to keep her breathing even, unwilling to disturb his sleep . . . Unwilling to allow him to see the pain that she was fighting to keep at bay . . .

Something about his very proximity, something about how close she was to him . . . It comforted her as it dug at her, too, tore at her in places that she didn't know existed deep down, even if she wasn't sure why, and yet . . .

It was too much, wasn't it?  Too much, too close, too . . .

Before she could think about it, before she could discern too much, she slipped out of his arms, off of the bed, not really thinking as she pulled the sheet from the bed and padded over to the balcony doors.

The night was still, that unearthly silence that only came just before the first rays of dawn.  Wrapping the sheet around herself, sinking down on the cold stone railing, she lifted her gaze, stared at the moon—the sad, sad moon . . .

What was it about that altercation?  What was it about the two of them . . .?

' _You know what it is,_ ' her youkai said gently, sadly, almost apologetically.  ' _You know because you understand it . . . That someone cannot hurt you unless . . ._ '

Jessa blinked slowly as the outline of the moon grew a little fuzzy, as it wavered slightly before her eyes.  "Someone cannot hurt you unless . . ." she murmured, her voice little more than a whisper in the deep.  "They . . . can't hurt you . . . unless . . . unless you . . . love them . . ."

And all at once, it made sense, didn't it?  The ugly, harsh truth of it, and . . . and her truth . . .

That profound agony on Ashur's face as he'd looked upon that woman . . . He . . . He loved her, didn't he . . .?  And . . .

And the reason that she . . . that she hurt so badly, so desperately . . . why she couldn't seem to say no, to turn away from him, even when she knew that she ought to . . .?  Knowing that giving herself to him was destroying her, just a little bit at a time, and still unable to stop herself . . . And she hated it, didn't she?  That feeling that she was all right, in accepting the scraps of whatever it was that he had within him to give her, of letting it all be okay because a little bit of beautiful was better than a lifetime of nothing . . .

It was the same, wasn't it?  The reason why the very thought of him, of her, of _them_ . . . The hopeless ache, the desolate confusion . . . It was because she . . .

' _I . . . love him . . .?_ '

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
> **_MMorg_ **
> 
> — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** ShiroNeko316 ——— minthegreen ——— Amanda Gauger
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— lianned88 ——— cutechick18 ——— lovethedgos ——— WhisperingWolf
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
> … _Damn it_ …


	33. Restless

"And I rode the roller coaster until I puked!"

Ashur made a face and slowly shook his head as Kells bounced around, telling him all about his trip to the many amusement parks in and around New England.  "Puked, huh?"

Kells nodded happily.  "But Bailey puked more!"

Ashur grimaced.  Manami giggled.  "That is truly the way to measure how good a time they had," she mused.

Ashur wasn't inclined to agree, but he shrugged, digging his hands into his pockets as he retained his silence on the matter.

"Where's Jessa?" the boy demanded.  Ashur pressed his lips together since they'd actually slept longer than he'd intended, and the woman in question was very likely finishing up her shower at the moment.  Given just how late he'd kept her up last night, though, it wasn't really surprising.  Of course, if left to his own devices, he wouldn't have let her sleep at all, but she'd fallen into an exhausted slumber just after their fourth round of lovemaking, and he hadn't had the heart to wake her . . .

"She'll be down in a bit," he assured the boy.  "Why don't you get the rest of your things and put them away?"

Kells wrinkled his nose, but darted off toward the front door.

Manami laughed as she watched him go.  "I hope you don't mind that I volunteered to bring him home," she said.  "Ben was sidetracked by some sort of message from Steve Vasquez, so Charity was going to bring him, but her twin had an urgent issue—that's what Charity said—and I wasn't busy, so . . ."

"It's fine," he told her, managing a vague smile.  "Will you be staying for a day or two?"

Manami sighed.  "Hmm . . . if you're sure I won't be an imposition . . ."

"You're never an imposition, Nami," he assured her.

She laughed, leaning over to kiss his cheek.  "Then I'd love to!"

Kells burst through the front door with his little suitcase and a bigger plastic bag that looked to be packed with stuffed animals and other toys, and he headed for the stairs.  "Good God," Ashur muttered, shaking his head as he stared at the bag.

Manami giggled.  "That's just the bag from me," she pointed out.

He heaved a sigh.  "I should have known."

She nodded.  "So . . . Tell me, how's the girl?  Jessa?"

"What do you mean?"

She linked her arm through his as he started toward the door to get the rest of Kells' things out of her car.  "Have you had any success in getting Ian to release her holdings?"

Ashur snorted.  "Nope, but Cain said that he sent Bas over to . . . have a talk with him."

Manami nodded.  "I knew about that . . . I don't know how much good it will do, though . . . Ian is nothing if not adamant that those of . . . mixed heritage . . . are not worth his time or trouble . . ."

"Yes, well, if he follows protocol, he'll have to relinquish his hold on her estate since she's being granted amnesty here."

"And about her mother?  Or is she willing to let it go as long as she gains control of her estate?"

"She might be willing," Ashur allowed.  "I'm not, though.  If he's behind her mother's death, then it's entirely unconscionable . . ."

"There's nothing anyone can do about it, short of Sesshoumaru issuing a directive on it, and you know that he won't, not over something like this."

Ashur nodded.  He hated the truth of her words, but there it was.

"Oh, Jesus," Ashur groaned when Manami popped the trunk of her car.  "Is all this for Kells?"

Manami laughed.  "Yes, it is.  I mean, he had to get souvenirs from everywhere they went, didn't he?"

"No," Ashur snorted indelicately.  "He didn't . . ."

Her laughter escalated as he shook his head and grabbed the nearest bags.

Jessa appeared in the doorway, her braided hair pulled over her shoulder and secured by a pretty white ribbon where it ended in a long, curling tail.  Kells was cuddled against her shoulder, eyes closed, looking like he was about as close to heaven as he could possibly get, and, given that Ashur tended to feel much the same when he snuggled with that particular woman?  He couldn't rightfully blame the boy; not in the least.  "Kells, come here and get some of this crap, will you?" he called.

Kells popped an eye open to pin his father with a very sad look.  "But Daddy, I'm filling my cuddles wif Jessa!" he complained.

Ashur heaved a sigh since he really couldn’t argue with that.  "All right, but once it's full, you're taking all this junk up to your room—right?"

Kells giggled, burrowing closer against Jessa's shoulder.  She, however, hurried over to the car to grab a bag in one hand while she held Kells with her other.  "Hey, Kells, tell me something. . . "

"Hmm?"  His voice was muffled by her neck.

"Do I snore?"

The boy giggled and sat up straight.  "Yeah!  Like a piggy!"

Snapping her mouth closed, her cheeks pinking in a very becoming blush, she let out a deep sigh and pinned Ashur with a foreboding look when he started to chuckle.

He reached over and plucked Kells out of her arms.  "Never tell a woman that she snores, Kells," he warned, "even when it's true."

"But she does!" Kells insisted, blue eyes wide, innocent, which really wouldn't save him from Jessa's wrath, much to Ashur's undisguised amusement.

Jessa uttered a terse grunt, narrowing her gaze on the two of them.

Ashur shrugged.  "Come on, Kells.  Let's go pick up your school uniforms."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

" _What is it you want, Jessa?_ "

 _Breathing harsh, shallow, staring up at him through heavily-lidded eyes, she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only whimper as he leaned away, as he stared at her with such intensity that she couldn't even remember her own name . . . "You," she whispered, reaching out, slipping her arms around his neck as he leaned down to kiss her, as he slid into her in such a maddeningly slow way that it made her want to scream_ . . .

"Thank you for agreeing to go running with me," Manami said as they jogged down the road, away from Ashur's estate.

Blinking away the rest of the memory of the night before, she managed a wan smile as she concentrated on planting one foot in front of the other.  "It's fine," she insisted, telling herself she really didn't need to blush, that there was no way that the swan-youkai could really read her mind . . .

"Do you want to slow down a little?" Manami asked, casting Jessa a questioning glance.  "Your face is all red . . ."

"Uh, no, I-I'm good," she insisted, refusing to meet Manami's gaze as she sped up just a little.

"If you're sure . . ."

She nodded.

"Ashur says you like horses," Manami continued, thankfully letting the subject drop.

Jessa nodded.  "Yes . . ."

"Have you given any thought as to what you'd like to do once your estate is settled?"

For some reason, that question was like a dousing of cold water, and Jessa stumbled over her own feet, very nearly falling on the pavement, but she managed to right herself again as Manami stopped abruptly and reached out to catch her arm.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," Jessa gritted out, gently but firmly pulling her arm away from Manami.  "Just a little clumsy this morning, I guess . . ."

Manami didn't look convinced.  "We could walk, if you'd rather . . ."

"It's fine," she insisted again, stubbornly breaking into a jog once more.

She hadn't thought about that, had she?  Once her estate was settled . . .

She grimaced inwardly as Manami fell into step beside her again.

Once her estate was settled, then there'd be no need for her to remain here with Ashur and Kells . . . That thought was enough to make her chest constrict painfully, to send a white-hot surge of sheer panic through her—just the thought of returning home, of being there in that place alone . . . the childhood memories of wandering the land, of exploring high and low until she knew the area like the back of her hand, and it was always a comforting memory, wasn't it?  The isolation, the ability to be who she wanted to be and not to be forced to conform to the constraints of her station, of her title . . . So, why didn't those same memories offer her the comfort that they once had?

And a moment later, the thought of Kells' laughing face—so sweet, so trusting and innocent . . . the thought of Ashur, of the hours she'd spent, lost in his arms, that feeling that nothing in the world could hurt her, could touch her . . .

"I met your parents a time or two," Manami went on, oblivious to Jessa's dark thoughts, "lovely people, they were . . . I'm so sorry about what happened . . ."

"Thank you," she murmured.  "It's . . . It's kind of you to say so . . ."

Manami laughed.  "You and Ashur seem to be getting along well, though, which is wonderful.  He can be a bit prickly sometimes, as I'm sure you've noticed . . . But he's a good man.  I'm glad."   She made a face.  "I confess, I was a little afraid that he was going to scare you off to start with . . . But, after everything he's had to deal with . . ." She sighed and shook her head, trailing off, much to Jessa's chagrin.

She didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing at all, biting her lip as she wondered, not for the first time, just where she fit into the equation of Ashur's world, of his life, and yet, the thought that answered her was harsh and not at all something that she wanted to dwell upon . . . The whispers in her head told her that she was little more than a convenience for him, and that . . . that stung . . .

Drawing near to Devlin's estate, she stared at Fletch and Flicker as the horses ran the length of the paddock as they passed.  Calling to her, they seemed to fall into stride with her.  She smiled at the thought, despite the bleakness of her own musings.

"Would you mind if we stopped here for a minute?" Jessa asked as they neared the long and winding driveway.  "He's a friend, and he found an injured eagle a few days ago . . . I wanted to see how it's doing . . ."

"Sure," Manami agreed, falling in beside Jessa as the two turned down the driveway.  "Is he one of Ashur's friends?"

"Uh, not really," she allowed.  "I met him one day when I was reading by the pond . . ."

Manami nodded, as though what she said made perfect sense, but she smiled brightly at Jessa.  "What was wrong with the eagle?"

Jessa shrugged, brushing aside an errant lock of hair that had escaped her braid.  "I think it had a broken wing," she remarked as she dropped to a brisk walk.  "He texted me yesterday with a picture.  He set it and hopes that it'll heal . . ."

"Wings are hard to repair," she remarked, a certain darkness entering her gaze.  "Maybe he'll be lucky . . ."

Jessa waved at one of the stable hands that she recognized.  "Hello!" she called, stopping the man in his tracks.  He was heading toward the stable, but he smiled when he saw Jessa.  "Good morning . . . Is Devlin in?"

The man—Mark, his name was—nodded at her and Manami.  "Yeah, I think he's around back . . . Set up a cage for that bird he brought home."

"Thank you," Jessa replied.  She led the way around the huge house and spotted what Mark must have been talking about: it was a little more than a simple cage, more like a shed, complete with a metal roof, but instead of walls, it was enclosed in metal screening.  "How is it?" she called as they approached.

Devlin looked up from the bird as he gently checked the wing, only to do a double take, eyes wide, staring past Jessa with an almost shell-shocked expression on his face.  "Uh, Irish . . ." he said.  "Hi . . ."

"Oh, this is one of Ashur's friends, Manami.  Manami, this is Devlin Broughton."

"Hello," she said as they stopped just outside the cage.  "Nice to meet you."  She laughed.  "I'd shake your hand, but you're a bit busy at the moment, aren't you?  What a gorgeous eagle . . ."

Jessa frowned when Devlin just stood there for a long moment, nodding slowly, mouth hanging slightly agape.  "Dev?  Are you all right?" she asked slowly, cautiously, wondering exactly what had gotten into him.

"What?  Oh!" he exclaimed, cheeks reddening as he quickly stepped over and unlatched the door from the inside.  "Would you . . .?  You want to see him?  Uh, the eagle, I mean."

Manami giggled and pulled the door open, stepping inside the cage.  "He's beautiful," she said.

"He?" Jessa asked, raising her eyebrows as she pulled the cage door closed behind her and latched it.

Manami nodded.  "The males are a bit smaller than the females of the species, and since he's obviously an adult, then that's that."

"You know your birds," Devlin remarked with an almost shy, lopsided kind of grin that made Jessa narrow her eyes suspiciously.

"Just a few," she replied, smiling at the Englishman.  "How's his wing?"

Jessa had to clear her throat to snap Devlin out of his momentary idle.  He uttered a terse chuckle and carefully stretched out the bird's wing.  "It's doing a lot better," he said.  "Almost healed."

Jessa frowned since it was a lot more healed than she'd have thought he should be, given his condition when they'd found him.

"I can probably release him in a couple days, as long as he doesn't injure it again between now and then . . ."

"Are you a veterinarian?" Manami asked without taking her eyes off the magnificent animal.

"Oh, uh, no," he replied.  "Just, um . . . I-I like birds . . ."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned against the closed door and arched an eyebrow at Devlin, who intercepted the expression and reddened just a little more before he quickly looked away from her.

"It's too bad I can't stay to see that," Manami mused.

Devlin cleared his throat.  "Well, if you . . . I mean, if you gave me your . . . your number, I could  record it for you . . . If you wanted to see me release him, that is . . ."

Manami nodded.  "I'd love to see that," she said.

Jessa rolled her eyes since the woman had yet to actually look away from the bird—and Devlin had yet to look away from Manami . . .

Manami laughed softly.  "Can I touch him?"

"Touch . . .?  Oh, um, sure, just . . . just don't make any sudden movements, and watch his beak . . . He tends to nip at people . . ." He uttered a strangely strangled and almost nervous laugh.  "I mean, he . . . He could probably take your finger off if you're not careful . . ."

Manami reached out slowly, let the bird see her hand as she carefully touched the back of his head.  "He's lovely . . ." she said.  "Is it just eagles or do you like all birds?" she asked, finally looking up at him as she pulled her hand away.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times.  "I, uh . . . I like them all," he said.  "I . . . I really like swans . . ."

Even that was a little too much for Jessa, and she covered her forehead and eyes with her hand, slowly shaking her head.  It was painful to watch, wasn't it?  Kind of like a slow motion train derailment . . .

Manami laughed.  "I'm a swan!" she exclaimed.

He laughed.  Jessa sighed.  "Y-You are," he agreed.

' _Oh, he won't . . ._ ' Jessa thought.

"I-I guess that means I like you, too . . ."

' _Oh, he did . . ._ '  She heaved a sigh and reached for Manami's arm.  "Well, we should probably be getting back now," she said before Devlin could make it any worse.

"Oh, right," Manami agreed as Jessa pretty well dragged her out of the cage again.  "I'll have Jessa give you my number.  It was wonderful, meeting you!" she called, hurrying to catch up since Jessa had already broken into a sprint to rush the woman away from Devlin before he managed to completely self-destruct.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa sat on the edge of the sofa cushion, rubbing her temples with her fingertips as she uttered a low groan.  "It was awful," she lamented, making a face since she'd just finished recounting the God-awful meeting between Devlin and Manami.

Ashur chuckled.  "So, your friend's a moron," he concluded.  "Did Manami laugh in his face?"

"No," she said, letting her hands drop between her knees.  "I don't know how she kept from doing that, though . . . It was a bloody nightmare . . ."

"Oh, it wasn't that bad . . . He was rather cute, actually," Manami said as she breezed into the living room.  "Did he like those pictures you sent him, Jessa?"

Jessa didn't laugh, but she did smile since they'd decided to go swimming when they got back, and Jessa had decided to be 'nice' and send Devlin a few pictures of, what she called, 'Swan in the Natural Habitat' . . . "He didn't actually say," she admitted.  "He did send a few emoticons, though . . ."

Manami laughed, taking a glass of wine that Ashur had poured for her.  "He's very adorable," she concluded.

"Sounds like an idiot," Ashur replied.  Manami smacked him lightly with the back of her hand against his chest.  He chuckled and stepped over to hand Jessa a glass of wine, too.

Kells ran into the room, bypassing his father entirely, and squirmed his way onto Jessa's lap.  He'd just finished taking a shower to clean off all the chlorine from the pool, and he smelled fresh, like baby shampoo, as he snuggled against her in his clean pajamas, obviously content just to be held and cuddled, which was fine, in her estimation.  "I missed you so much, Jessa!" he exclaimed, voice muffled by the front of the light sweater she'd put on after her own shower.  Then he sighed happily.

"I missed you, too, Kells," she assured him, settling back against the sofa, adjusting him so that he was more comfortable.

"Didn't miss Daddy at all, I see," Ashur muttered, slowly shaking his head.

Kells waved a hand at Ashur as his eyes drifted closed.  Ashur smiled just a little.

Manami sat down next to Jessa, slowly sipping the wine.  "So, tell me.  How do you like Canada so far?"

"It's fine," he replied.  He'd skipped over the wine and went straight for the brandy.  "Seems fairly quiet for now, anyway."

"Quiet is good," Manami decided.  "I could do with some quiet myself . . ."

"I thought you liked your job?"

"'Like,' is a bit of a stretch," Manami replied.  "It's necessary, and I enjoy the peace of mind in knowing that those people cannot harm anyone, ever again."

"What do you do?" Jessa asked, idly smoothing Kells' hair.

She shot Ashur a meaningful look before pasting on a tepid smile for Jessa's benefit.  "I'm a hunter," she said in an entirely matter-of-fact tone.

Jessa blinked, her hand stilling mid-stroke.  "A hunter?  As in . . .?"

Manami slowly nodded.  "Mhmm . . . I take care of those things that go bump in the night," she quipped with an underlying seriousness.  "It's not a glamorous job, but . . . but I have the satisfaction of knowing that there are a few less nightmares in the world."

Jessa frowned, gaze falling on Kells' adorable face, looking so sweet, so angelic, as he slept.  The sense of well-being, as fleeting as it could be, wasn't wasted on her as she held the toddler close.  Maybe it wasn't meant to be something that would be hers for always, but for now, just for now, she savored it, reveled in the feel of his little body, so trustingly snuggled against her.  From the first night when he'd crept into her room, when she'd held him close, even as she'd cried over the family she'd lost, something about the child had comforted her far more than she could credit . . .

Ashur and Manami's discussion turned toward youkai politics—something that Jessa had very little interest in, but that was fine, in her estimation.  She was still pondering what Manami had said . . . A few less nightmares in the world?  That's how Manami looked at her job?  She supposed that it made sense.  Even so, it seemed like a lonely kind of thing . . . Lonely, and a little sad . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader ——— sutlesarcasm ——— xSerenityx020
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** minthegreen ——— ShiroNeko316 ——— Amanda Gauger ——— jajan
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— lianned88 ——— WhisperingWolf ——— lovethedogs ——— cutechick18
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Devlin_** :  
>  _She's a swan_ …


	34. Spiral

"Ashur, hi.  It's Bas."

Leaning back in his chair, Ashur frowned.  "Bas . . . Did you meet with the MacDonnough?"

He heard the heavy sigh as his frown darkened.  "Yeah, I met with him," Bas allowed.  "Damned old bastard, anyway . . . He refuses to discharge Jessa's estate, and he insists that the accident report is exactly how he got it . . ."

"Then get a hold of the mechanic, can't you?"

Bas grunted.  "That's what I've been trying to do for the last four days.  The guy's fallen off the face of the earth or something.  Shop's gone and everything.  No records, no nothing."

"That sounds awfully suspicious."

"Doesn't it?

Dropping his pen on the desk, he slowly rubbed his forehead.  "So, what now?"

"Well, Dad is willing to go through the channels to get her estate released to him since she's being given amnesty, but it's going to be awhile because the only way to do it is to formally petition Sesshoumaru, and I have no doubt that he'll rule in her favor, but you know how much of a hassle the process is.  We have to build a case against her estate remaining under the blanket of the European tai-youkai, prove that it's in her best interest to have jurisdiction transferred to Dad, et cetera, et cetera . . . We can do it.  It'll just take time . . ."

"How long are we talking?  Ballpark?"

Letting out a deep breath, Bas drummed his claws on the table—Ashur could hear it all, as plain as day.  "Six months?  A year . . .?"

"But no one can touch it, right?"

"No, they can't touch it.  No one can.  The entirety of her estate is just sitting in escrow.  About the only bonus is that, until a rightful heir is named, whether it's her or her future mate, no one can do a thing.  Well, they could sell things off but the proceeds all have to go to the estate, so basically, it can be added to, but it cannot be taken from—at least, not in her case."  Bas suddenly chuckled, but it wasn't an entirely amused sound.  No, it was a little more ironic than that.  "Be easier if she'd just find her mate.  If she did, that old bastard would have to release her estate, one way or another."

Ashur grunted.  "That's what I'm afraid of . . ."

"You mean, this supposed betrothed of hers?"

"Is that what MacDonnough's calling it?"

Bas cleared his throat.  "Yep . . . Look, I've been checking into the duke's son, too . . . From what I've found out, though, he's not here."

Ashur grimaced.  "That's what we kind of thought."

"As far as I can tell, no one knows exactly where she is, though, so there's that.  Just keep an eye on her."

"I already knew that," he said, unable to keep the clipped tone out of his voice.

Bas sighed again.  "I'm going to hang around here awhile longer, see if I can't overstay my welcome . . . I'm going to try to dig up something on the mechanic, although indications seem to be that he's either dead or just vanished . . ."

"Killing someone outright?  That doesn't exactly sound like MacDonnough's MO—unless he sent one of his hunters after him . . ."

Bas snorted.  "I'm sure he didn't do a damn thing to dirty his own hands.  Anyway, I've got to go.  I'm meeting Cassidy for dinner.  She has a few connections that she said she'd check into for me."

"Cassidy?"

"Inutaisho—Gunnar's sister.  Much nicer than he is, though . . . Almost as pretty, too . . ."

"That's messed up," Ashur muttered.

Bas laughed.  "I'll give you a call if I find out anything else."

"All right. Thanks."

The call ended, and Ashur sighed as he dropped the phone onto the desk.

To be honest, he hadn't actually thought that Bas would make any more headway than they already had, but he'd hoped . . . He should have known better . . .

A soft knock interrupted his musings, but he didn't have to look up to recognize the familiar youki that slipped over him.  Breaking into a small smile, he glanced up anyway, rising to his feet as he held out a hand to her.

She stared at it for a long moment before slowly stepping toward him as he rounded the desk, as he pulled her into a tight hug and sighed.  "I've wanted to do this for the last two days," he murmured, kissing Jessa's forehead as she melded herself against him.

"Where's Kells?"

"Manami took him into the city to see a movie," he said.  "You were out riding, so he pouted that he didn't get to say bye before he left."

She nodded.  "So . . . they'll be gone awhile?"

"Well, a couple hours, probably . . ."

"Are you . . . busy . . .?"

He chuckled.  "Nothing I couldn't put off for a bit . . ." Bringing her hand up, he kissed the back of her knuckles.  "Did you have something in mind, Jessa?"

Her cheeks reddened prettily as she slowly shook her head, as she lifted her other hand, toying with a condom packet, slipping it around her nimble fingers.  "Do you?"

Taking it from her, he leaned down to kiss her, savoring her quiet sigh as she slipped her arms around his neck, her fingers twisting around the length of his ponytail.  The taste of her lips, as soft as the morning dew, was enough to wrench a groan from him, and he pulled her against him, hands running over her back, her waist, her hips, as she opened to him, as her tongue flicked against his . . .

"Daddy!" Kells hollered, seconds after the slam of the door jerked him right out of the moment.  Jessa gasped and hopped away from him, smashing the back of her hand over her lips as the boy tore into the office at break-neck speed.  "Jessa!  You can come to the movie, too!" he yelped, hopping up and down in his excitement.

"I forgot my phone," Manami said, poking her head into the office, wiggling the device back and forth.  Her smile widened as she glanced from Ashur to Jessa and back again.  "Uh . . . Kells . . . We're going to be late if we don't hurry."

Jamming the condom into his pocket, thankful that he'd been holding it in his hand, Ashur intercepted the heightened brightness of Manami's gaze and stifled a low groan.

"Daddy!  Can you and Jessa come, too?" Kells asked, looking entirely too excited at the prospect of them all going to the movies together.

"Oh, don't you think it'd be fun?  Just the two of us?" Manami interjected before Ashur could answer.

"But I want Jessa an' Daddy to come, too . . ." Kells grumbled, his disappointment very, very obvious.

Jessa shot Ashur a quick glance before tucking her hair behind her ear and stepping forward.  "That sounds like fun, Kells," she said, reaching for his hand as she smiled down at the boy.

Ashur smothered a sigh.  "You just want me to buy you popcorn," he muttered.

"Can I have a soda, too?"

"No," Ashur replied, grabbing his phone and following the others out of the office, cursing under his breath at his rotten luck—and his son's impeccable sense of timing . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"You weren't kidding at all, were you?"

Jessa glanced up at Ashur and made a face before turning her attention back to the poor fool who sat beside Manami at the fire pit as the crackle of the flames reached into the darkened sky.

"Is that why you invited him over?" Jessa asked, leaning against the railing, casually sipping her drink.

Ashur didn't deny it.  "He almost spilled that drink on her," he remarked.

"I don't think I've ever seen him as rattled as he is around her . . ."

"Daddy!  Look!" Kells exclaimed, holding up a glass jar that he was using to collect fireflies.  Jessa had popped holes into the lid for him, and he'd spent the majority of the evening, running around the yard, catching the poor, hapless insects.

"Are you going to let them go before you go inside?"

Kells nodded.  "Yeah, or they'll die," he replied before taking off again.

Ashur heaved a sigh.

"You know, they'd make a cute couple—if he could stop acting so goofy around her," Jessa said.

"She'd kill him," Ashur predicted.

Jessa rolled her eyes, but giggled.

Ashur shook his head as she stepped away, watching her slip into a chair at the fire pit beside Devlin.  It was the first time he'd actually spoken much to the Englishman, but he seemed all right—when Manami wasn't right there, anyway.  Something about Manami turned the man into a fumbling mess, as far as Ashur could tell.  It was a little odd, really, but Jessa found it amusing as hell . . .

"I want a hot dog!" Kells exclaimed, setting the jar on the nearby table and hopping over to Jessa's side.

She laughed and ruffled the boy's hair, standing up to shove a hot dog on a stick for him.  Then she knelt behind him, helping him to steady the skewer as he held the hot dog over the flames.

' _She's damn good with him, isn't she?_ '

He slowly nodded.  ' _She is._ '

' _She'll make a damn good mama one day, don't you think?_ '

He snorted.  ' _She's eighteen—nowhere near ready for a baby . . ._ '

' _Well, no, not right now, this second.  Eventually, though . . . I mean, she wants a family . . ._ '

' _And just how would you know that?_ '

His youkai sighed.  ' _It stands to reason, baka . . . Besides, don't you want them?  More babies?_ '

Glancing over at Kells, Ashur narrowed his eyes, considered all the sleepless nights, all the midnight feedings, the diaper changes, the temper tantrums . . .

' _And the contented sighs and the smiles that you know were just for you . . . The pride when he learned something new, the knowledge that he was truly happy . . ._ '

Yeah, so those things were nice, he had to admit.  Even so, he hadn't really thought about it, had he?  The idea of really starting a family, to add to the one that Kells had now . . .?

He wasn't sure why the idea seemed so foreign.  He supposed that after everything that had happened that he simply had stopped considering a future that was so uncertain to him, or maybe . . . maybe he just never had thought about it.  Given his family, the way they operated, he'd never really wanted to bring anyone into that, hadn't wanted anyone to actually see exactly what was going on in that house . . .

And somehow, that sounded just a little more pathetic, didn't it . . .?

' _And it didn't help, did it?  Seeing Hana . . ._ '

Grimacing inwardly at that blatant reminder, Ashur turned on his heel, wandered away—away from Jessa and Kells and Manami, somehow needing the space to think, to breathe . . .

It was the first time since that evening that he'd allowed himself to think about it.  After three years, it hadn't taken him more than ten seconds to realize that he still wasn't ready to deal with her—wasn't sure he ever would be.  The anger was still there—the rage that he felt that had managed to lay waste to the centuries of friendship they'd shared . . . It still felt like the ultimate betrayal, and it was still too fresh, even after three years: too fresh, too raw, and entirely too close . . .

And yet, some small part of him knew, didn't he?  Knew that he would have to deal with it, at least on some level.  Maybe he wouldn't have to face Hana again, but Jessa . . . The confusion on her face, the questions that she hadn't had the heart to raise . . . But he'd seen them awash in her gaze, even if she had realized that he just couldn't tell her . . .

Because telling her about Hana would open up too many doors, would raise more questions in her head that he wasn't sure if he could answer.  Even now, as he'd gained perspective, as he'd managed to separate himself from the past on some level . . . There were days when he had trouble reconciling the things he knew, the things he'd grown up with, and the more time he spent with Kells, the more surreal it all seemed.

What he'd discovered over the course of the last three years was that, for every one of those things that he cherished: the smiles, the laughter, the tears, the triumphs, and even the failures, with every one of those things had also come love—a love that he hadn't understood on that day, when he'd stood there with a crying newborn in his hands.  He hadn't understood because he'd never felt it before.  He'd had to learn it, and it had started with Kells.

Jessa . . . She knew that love, didn't she?  Understood it because it had been given to her freely, and maybe that was the reason why she could, in turn, give the same to Kells, regardless of whether or not Kells was her own.  Somehow, Kells had managed to breach her defenses, and if there was nothing else that she could do to earn his unerring devotion, she'd found his one weakness, hadn't she?

Everything, everything, revolved around Kells.  Whether by accident or design, he'd burned bridges because of Kells, had turned his back on Hana because of what she'd done, because of what she'd nearly cost him . . . and maybe it was Kells who had forged that bridge that had led him to Jessa, too . . . and just how ironic was that, really . . .?

"Ashur?"

He stopped at the sound of that voice, slowly turned to face her as Jessa wandered toward him, one arm crossed over her stomach, the other holding onto the length of her hair.  Skin glowing, eyes shining, she stopped beside him, leaning her head to the side as she slowly regarded him, searched his face in the waning light, in the thickening shadows. 

"Are you all right?" she asked quietly.

"Fine," he replied, forcing a thin smile solely for her, willing her to believe, to accept his lie for truth.  "Everything's good."

She didn't believe him.  He knew she didn't.  Still, she sighed, smiled just a little.  "I'm . . . I'm going to put Kells to bed," she told him.  "Then I guess I'll . . . I'll go to bed, too . . ."

He caught her hand as she started away.  "Leave you balcony doors unlocked," he said.  "I just . . . I just want to hold you . . ."

She stared at him for a long moment, but finally she nodded.

He sighed as she walked away—wondering not for the first time, just what the hell he thought he was doing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Something good?"

Ashur blinked and glanced up, taking the snifter of brandy that Manami offered him as she sank down on the sofa beside him, leaning forward to look at the report he had been trying—and failing—to read.

"Ontario?  Anything interesting?" she asked, settling back with her knees drawn up beside him.

"Not really," he replied, dropping the stack of papers on the coffee table with a heavy sigh.  "They didn't mention that being a general could be one of the most boring things in the world."

She laughed quietly, softly, reaching out, brushing his bangs out of his face with her gentle fingers, with her feathery touches.  "I'm leaving in the morning," she said.  "Cain called.  He has a job for me."

"Do you honestly like hunting, Nami?" he asked.

She shrugged.  "No, not really," she replied.  "Someone's got to do it, though, right?  And . . . And I promised."

"Oh?  What promise?"

She smiled, but it seemed a little sad.  "When I wanted to learn how to fight . . . The one who trained me made me promise that if agreed to do so, that I'd use what he taught me to make sure that what happened to him wouldn't happen to anyone else . . ."

"What happened to him?"

She shrugged, as though her tale was of no real consequence—or maybe she simply didn't want it to be.  "When he was small, his parents were killed—killed because of what they were."

"Which was . . .?" he prompted when she trailed off.

The look she leveled at him was dark, mysterious.  "They were _jigoku_ ," she said.

His eyebrows lifted.  "Hell-youkai?  But those are just a . . . a myth—a legend . . ."

"So I thought," she agreed.  "I was wrong.  He was one, too—the last one, to my knowledge.  His parents were killed by someone who wanted to harness their powers.  Their bodies disintegrated before he could, but even so . . . _Shishou_ was old when I met him—old and lonely . . . He refused to search for his mate, never tried.  He was afraid of passing on his heritage, but he taught me all I needed to know about the art of assassination, and the day that he said that I had mastered everything he could teach me, he . . . He walked away, and I never saw him again.  A year later, I received his ring—his father's ring—and when I saw it, I knew he was dead."  Taking a long drink from her snifter, she uttered a shaky laugh.  "I've never told anyone all of that," she admitted.  "I thought that it'd hurt a lot more than it does . . ."

Ashur sighed, staring at the amber liquid, slowly swirling it around.  "I . . . I saw Hana the other night," he said.  "I'd taken Jessa to dinner, and . . . and there she was . . ."

"I can't imagine that was good."

He shook his head.  "She asked me about him—about Kells . . ."

"Have you told Jessa anything?  About Hana?"

"No."

"But the two of you . . . There's something there."  Holding up a hand to silence his protests before he could start making them, she smiled.  "Give me some credit, Ashur.  I'm not stupid . . . So, just how serious are you?"

"I . . . I don't know . . ."

"Don't know or just don't want to think about it?"

That earned her a darkened scowl.  "I can't . . . get her out of my head," he confessed.  "I just . . . When I'm near her, I . . ." He grimaced, heaved a sigh.  "If I . . . If I tell her about . . . about Hana—about everything . . ."

"That girl's been through hell the past year," she told him quietly, gently.  "She's been through more than many adults do in their entire lifetimes, and if you honestly think she won't understand, then you're wrong.  I'd bet my life on that . . . It's in her eyes, if you stop, if you look.  She's older than some centuries-old youkai in some ways—in the ways that should matter."

He shook his head.  "How can I ask her to understand a lifetime that I don't even understand?  For the last three years, everything I have, I've given to Kells, and I . . ."

She reached over, placed her hand on his cheek.  "So, what are you doing with her, then?  Ashur, I've seen the way she looks at you when you're not paying attention, when she thinks that no one can see.  She's wearing her heart on her sleeve, and you . . . You need to see it—see _her_ . . . and maybe . . . Maybe you're the only one who can truly appreciate just how much she's had to deal with because you've done the same thing—dealt with the same stuff—for the last three years, too."

He didn't answer her, said nothing as he continued to stare at the glass in his hand.

She yawned and uncurled her legs, pushing herself to her feet.  "I'm going to bed.  I have to get an early start in the morning, but before I do, I'll tell you one last thing, and you can take it or leave it, it's entirely up to you."

He sighed.  "What's that?"

She smiled.  "I've been all over the world a number of times.  I've traveled from Japan to France to Asia and here.  I've seen so many faces come and go, but I tell you this: I've never, ever met another woman quite like Jessa O'Shea, and I know that I never will again.  If she's your one?  You grab onto her and don't let her go, Ashur, because she's rare, and she's beautiful, and if you let her go, you'll never find another like her again."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_A/N_** :  
>  ** _Jigoku_** _: hell_.  
>  ** _Shishou_** _: master_.
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader ——— xSerenityx020
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** minthegreen ——— Okmeamithinknow ——— Amanda Gauger ——— ShiroNeko316
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— lianned88 ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Manami_** :  
>  _He's a fool if he lets her slip away_ …


	35. Caution

Jessa sat under the tree, legs drawn up, fingers locked around her ankles, chin resting on her knees as she stared over the pond without really seeing a thing.  She'd lost track of time in the guise of reading, but she'd given up that hopeless farce awhile ago.  The book lay in the grass beside her, forgotten, as the wind stirred her hair, carrying with it the breath of the warm summer sun, the brilliance of a cloudless sky, and it was all lost on her.

He hadn't come to her.

She'd slipped out of the house just after dawn, had taken Stardust and rode, hell-bent for leather, all over the estate, given the animal his head, let him lead her wherever he wanted, and somehow, they'd ended up here.  He was tethered to a nearby tree in the shade, close enough to the water to drink between grazing on the tender grass along the bank of the pond.  Part of her wanted to get back on Stardust, to ride to the ends of the earth.  The other part of her . . . She couldn't deal with the idea of never seeing Kells and Ashur again, and that part of her . . .

"A little early to find you here, isn't it, Irish?"

She blinked, glanced up at Devlin as he tethered Fletch to a tree branch, then looked away again.  "Back to normal, are you?" she asked, not really in the mood for company, but hating the thought of being alone again.

"Wasn't I?"

She snorted.  "No, you weren't.  Not around Manami, anyway . . ."

"Manami," he repeated, raking his hands through his hair.  "I just . . . I don't know what it is!  Ever since I saw her once in London, I just . . ." he sighed.  "She's . . . She's _perfect_ . . ."

"No one's perfect," Jessa argued.  "I guess it's cute, though, the way you keep tripping all over yourself around her . . ."

He dug an apple out of his pocket and tossed it to her before producing another from the other side.  "Speaking of perfection . . . You're in a perfectly awful mood, aren't you?" he mused.  "Have a falling out with dear Ashur?"

"I hate men," she muttered, refusing to acknowledge the half-truth in his guess.  "You're all stupid and boorish and . . . and you don't keep promises . . . Liars, the lot of you . . ."

"Ouch," he drawled.  She could feel him staring at her, and he scooted over beside her, pulled her against his shoulder, letting his hand rest on her back.  "All right," he said in his typical English drawl.  "You're about two curses from crying.  Let's have it."

She shoved against him, but he wrapped his arm a little more securely around her, and she sighed, letting her head fall against his chest, but her eyes remained hot, dry.  "It's stupid," she mumbled.  "Just . . ."

"And I say, if it's got you this far into a snit, then it's not stupid; it's something.  So, tell Big Brother what's bothering you."

"My big brother would be Irish," she scoffed.

"I can't do accents," he told her.

She rolled her eyes, breaking into a half-smile.  "Idiot."

He chuckled.  "You'll feel better if you talk about it."

She sighed, relaxing against him, idly rubbing the apple in the hem of her shirt.  "I just . . . I wish I knew where I stand—If I stand at all . . ."

"Have you tried talking to him?  I mean, strictly speaking, you are right about one thing: men are a little dull at times, and, as a rule, we cannot read your minds.  Sometimes we'd like to, but sadly . . . Well, you get the gist of it."

"It's not that simple," she told him.  "The other night, we went to dinner, and there was this . . . this woman, and if you had seen her . . ." She flinched.  "She was stunning—absolutely gorgeous—and . . . He knew her.  She came over, and they . . ." She shook her head, made a face.  "I think it was an argument.  I don't know . . ." She sighed, burying her face against her knees for a moment as she tried to make sense of what she'd seen.

"What do you mean, you don't know?  An argument is a pretty easy thing to recognize."

"They were speaking a different language," she said.  "Japanese, maybe, I didn't understand it, but their voices, and he . . . She wasn't angry, but he was—beyond angry, really.  Closer to livid, I guess . . . But you don't get that upset, do you?  Not unless there's something else, something . . . deeper . . ." Turning her face to the side, she stared at Devlin, frowned at the thoughtful scowl on his face.  "The more you care about someone, the worse they can hurt you, right?  And he . . . He was hurting, and I just couldn't ask him . . ."

"He didn't tell you anything about her?"

She shook her head again.  Then she choked out a humorless laugh, so full of derision, of a bitterness that it sounded more like a screech in her own ears.  "If you saw her, Dev . . . She was so . . . so refined, so graceful, with these . . . these eyes so dark that they were nearly black, this gorgeous, shiny black hair, and just the way she moved, like she was gliding across the floor . . . and she looked at him like . . . like she knew him— _really_ knew him.  I . . . I can't compete with that . . ."

"Do you think it's a competition?" he asked, taking a bite from his apple.  "It's not, you know.  Even people who were once thick as thieves have their falling-outs."

She shook her head again, uttered a long, drawn-out sigh.  "I'm really nothing more than a stupid, stupid little girl," she muttered.

"All right," he said, waving his apple to emphasize his point.  "That'll be enough of that.  Since when do you sit around, feeling sorry for yourself?  And just what good will it do you, anyway, I'd like to know!"

She opened her mouth to argue with him.  His index finger shot straight out under her nose.  "No," he commanded.  "Not unless you're going to drop the whole, 'feel sorry for me crock'.  It's not you, Irish, and you cannot pull it off."

"I'm not," she grumbled, pinning him with a fulminating glower.  "I'm just saying—"

"—Crap," he cut in.  "Utter hogwash.  First off, you're just as beautiful, just as stunning, as any black haired vamp from Ashur's sordid past.  Second off, you, m'dear, are hardly a little girl.  Third off, if you're not going to demand answers from the man, then you have no business, sitting out here, under a tree, moping about the unfairness of it all, and fourth off?  Eat that apple because I know bloody damn well that you didn't bother to eat anything before you took off this morning—and does Ashur even know where you are?"

She wrinkled her nose, glowered at him, but she bit into the apple without a word, cheeks pinked by the set-down he'd dealt her.  Satisfied that she'd at least eat, he bit into his apple, too, as he flopped onto his back.

"You're hell on a girl's ego," she told him as she took another huge bite of the fruit.

He grunted something entirely unintelligible.

"It's really none of my business, though," she pointed out in what she hoped was a reasonable tone of voice.  "I mean, if you  . . . If you were him, and I asked you, what would you say?"

He sighed, tossing the apple core over to his horse.  Fletch retrieved it quite happily and munched it.  "I don't know, Irish.  That is to say, I don't presume to guess exactly what your relationship with Ashur really is, so anything I'd say would be entirely arbitrary."

She stood up, stalked over to feed the rest of the apple to Stardust.  "You're not much help, are you, Devlin?  Kind of useless, if you ask me . . ."

He chuckled.  "I'm sorry," he said, sounding anything but apologetic.  "You know, though, how wrong you are, don't you?"

"About what?" she asked, sitting back down beside him again.

"You don't need to be like anyone else—not this woman from his past, not anyone—and I'd venture to guess that Ashur wouldn't want you to be, anyway.  I mean, I don't know for sure, but . . . " He trailed off and shook his head before pushing himself off the ground to untether Fletch.  "And if I'm wrong—if he really does expect you to be someone you aren't?  The he wouldn't deserve you, anyway, Irish."

She watched as he mounted his horse, as he turned him around before reining him in.  "Where are you going?"

He sighed.  "My darling mother has an appointment today, and since she refuses to learn how to drive . . ."

"I'll text you later," she called after him.  He raised a hand to indicate that he'd heard her just before he rounded the bend in the path that led back to his estate.

Jessa watched him go and sighed.  Sure, the things he'd said made perfect sense.  That didn't really matter, though, when she had too many questions and no real answers—no way of getting any of those answers when the one person who could tell her was the same person she dared not ask . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ashur sprinted through the trees, ignoring the dampness underfoot, the dew that soaked the hem of his slacks, he gritted his teeth and concentrated on the feel of her.

He should have known.  After his talk with Manami the night before, he'd sat on the sofa, mulling over everything, trying to make sense where sense did not exist, and somewhere along the line, he'd fallen asleep.  When he'd woken up with Kells, jamming his fingers into his eyes, he'd gone to check on Jessa, to apologize for not coming to her as he'd planned, but she was long gone by then, which really just figured.

Manami had told him to go find her, to talk to her, that she'd hold off on leaving until he got back to keep an eye on Kells.  " _Take your time, Ashur . . . I think the two of you need to talk_. . ."

He had shot her a darkened scowl and ran out the door, discarding the thought of putting on shoes as he set out at a dead sprint toward the trees . . .

It was unbelievable, wasn't it?  Just how many times did he have to warn her not to take off by herself?  But no, whether she forgot or if it just hadn't occurred to her . . . Maybe she just thought that she'd ignore his warning . . .

And even as that thought flashed through his head, he discarded it.  No, as impetuous and naïve as she was, Jessa wasn't the kind to willfully disregard a warning, either, and he knew that . . . Too bad his irritation was fast overriding his common sense, and, as he broke through the trees near the pond, skidded to a stop in the damp grass, spotted the wild disarray of her stunning hair, he felt his temper snap.

Striding over to her, he grabbed her arms, yanked her up off the ground, ignoring the sharp gasp as her eyes flared wide, as he gave her a solid shake.  "Where the hell have you been?" he thundered, unable to rein in the need to yell.  "I told you—I _warned_ you!  Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Suddenly, though, he let go of her, stared in almost a disengaged sort of way as the sleeve of his shirt exploded in flame.  Before he could panic or anything else, though, the knowledge that her fire didn't actually hurt registered in his mind.

"Shake me again, Ashur Philips, and I'll burn you for real," she warned, narrowing her gaze at him as she rubbed her arms, as she stepped away.

Struggling to tamp down the rampant irritation that still flicked at the edges of his self-imposed calm—a temerarious calm, at best—he said nothing, planting his hands on his hips as the fabric of the shirt burned away.  "Cute, Jessa," he growled, unwilling to take a step toward her, knowing that the hold he had on his temper wouldn't last if he did.  "Did I not warn you that you could easily be a target if you're out on your own?"

"I needed the air," she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest as she kept rubbing her forearms.

He snorted.  "Is this how it's always going to be?  I tell you something, and you deliberately ignore me because you . . . need air . . .?"

She stared at him for a long moment, gaze narrowed, as though she were trying to see inside his head.  She must have drawn some sort of conclusion because she nodded once, turning on her heel to stomp over to the horse.  Ashur strode over, caught her arm to swing her back around.  "No."

"No?"

He shook his head.  "You're not walking away from me," he said.  "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Nothing," she said, and if it weren't for the way her eyes sparked dangerously, he might well have believed her.

He snorted.  "Is this about last night?  I fell asleep on the sofa—I'm sorry."

For some reason, his apology sparked her temper; he could see it in the flare of her eyes.  Ducking seconds before she shot a ball of fire off her palm, he uttered a loud curse as he snatched her up, as he strode out into the water, holding onto her despite her flailing attempts to regain her freedom, and when he reached about mid-thigh, he dropped her.

She screamed as she hit the water, came up sputtering, wiping moisture from her eyes with balled-up fists.  He stood back, arms crossed over his chest as she flung water at him, as she screamed every swear she knew and every one she could make up.  Something about the act of dunking her had completely quelled his own irritation, and he almost smiled— _almost_ —when she finally stood up, hip-deep in the pool, glaring daggers at him while her hair stuck to her face, her neck, as she stomped her foot in unspent temper—and yet, in his eyes, she'd never been quite as glorious as she was in that moment, either . . .

"I _hate_ you!" she screamed, smacking her fists into the water with every word.  "You're such a—"

"You're beautiful," he replied as the smile he'd been holding back finally managed to surface.

She stopped as his words sank in, her gaze slowly rising to meet his.  From the short distance, he could see the way her lips trembled, the slight quiver of her nostrils, the reflected light awash in her eyes as a sudden sheen of unshed tears added a luster, a brilliance, and she slowly shook her head.

He took the few steps that separated them, pulled her into his arms without much of a fight.  She stood, stiff, resistant, for a moment, but as quickly as her anger had come, it dissolved with a sigh, with a tiny whimper when he leaned down, when he kissed her . . .

Her arms reached out, encircling his neck, the soggy sleeves of her sweater dripping down him like rain as he ignored the unpleasant chill of her wet clothing, concentrating instead on the feel of her, of her fire, of her passion.  Everything about her spoke to him in whispers and murmurs and the thunder of the blood running through his veins.

He leaned down, lifted her up, carried her back to the shore under the shade of the trees.  Lowering her to the grass, he didn't break the kiss: a thousand little playful nips, the scrape of her fangs on his lips, the flick of her tongue, the warmth of her sighs . . . Her claws, dragging over his chest, not enough to draw blood, hard enough to send a shockwave rattling right through him . . .

She rose against him, the call of her body a nearly palpable thing—impossible for him to ignore . . . The effort was wasted before it was ever expended.  It occurred to him in some vague sort of way, through the haze and the burgeoning desire that threatened to engulf him in her flames . . . Something about them was inevitable, and the notion of fighting it . . .

Her hands slid down his chest his stomach, gliding over the muscles that jerked at her touch.  She moaned softly, the sound lost in the kiss, reaching for the button, the zipper on his rumpled and soaked pants as he leaned on his elbows, fingertips tracing the gentle swell of her cheekbones, of her jaw, pushing himself lower, tasting the saltiness of her skin, kissing a trail down along her collarbone, savoring the taste of her on his lips, on this tongue . . .

She shoved at the back of his pants, pushed them down over his hips as he raised his pelvis just enough to help her, not nearly enough to break the contact of their bodies.  It was enough to placate her for the moment, and he gasped, harsh and loud, as her hands encircled the thickness of him, as she squeezed him tight, only to release the tension as she slowly stroked him.  He growled as he rolled off of her, gritted his teeth as he slipped out of her grip, as he yanked the clinging pants off, half-inside out.

He started to toss them aside, but stopped as the half-forgotten memory of yesterday, of the condom he'd stuck in his pocket, flashed through his head.  It was still there—thank God—and he started to turn, to grab Jessa once more, only to freeze for a moment when he realized that she'd managed to discard her own clothes while he was wrestling with his pants.  Stretched out in the grass on her side, propped up on her elbow, the fire that was banked in her eyes could have incinerated him where he sat.  Cheeks flushed, lips darkened to a smudged rouge, swollen from their kisses, slightly parted as she breathed, perfectly rounded breasts, rising and falling, rosy nipples, darkening, hardening under his unabashed perusal, one leg bent, hiding that part of her that beckoned him in silent and brilliant invitation . . .

She pushed herself up, her other hand coming down on the grass as she rose onto her knees, as she crawled toward him, her gaze locked with his, and he couldn’t look away.  She pushed his shoulders until he fell back, leaned over him as her hair fell over her shoulders, as the moisture that still clung to her locks tickled his skin, as she kissed him long, slow . . . as her hands wrapped around him again, her tongue stroking his as the circle of her fingers pumped him in the same rhythm . . .

And slowly, she kissed her way down his body, leaving him unable to do anything as she systematically destroyed his defenses, laid waste to any misgivings, drove every single thought out of his head . . . The velvet of her tongue, the primordial heat of her breath, the silken fire of her mouth closed over him, drew him deep, wrung a moan from him as it stilled his lungs, singed the blood that ripped through his veins, setting off every nerve, every synapse in his body, in his brain.  Digging his fingers deep into the downy tangle of her hair, he jerked, he gasped, lifting his hips to plunge himself deeper into her, into the wicked vortex, the suction of heat and fire and light . . .

She pumped him hard, squeezing, releasing, lips wrapped carefully over teeth and fangs, the slickness of her saliva both cold and so very, very hot, the beauty that was her leaving an indelible imprint upon his soul . . .

Reaching out with clumsy hands, grasping her legs, he tugged her over, let her knees fall on either side of his head, pulling her closer, opening her wide, burying his lips, his tongue in the depths of her, forcing a half-moan, half-scream from her that reverberated through him in a violent shockwave of pleasure.

She shivered, shook, seemed to pulsate around him, her body so vibrant, so alive, and so damned inviting.  Every taste of her left him wanting more, every stroke of his tongue bringing on another wave of moans that shot straight through him, tightening the precarious balance between the thinnest control and the beckoning wash of tortuous pleasure, and the more he savored her, the closer she slipped toward her own oblivion, the more visceral she grew, taking him deeper, the suction of her mouth bordering on painful as one of her hands dropped away, only to squeeze his balls, and, with a ragged cry—one that echoed through her body—he felt himself thicken, felt the tremors, the quivers, the all-consuming tightening that ached, that throbbed, that suddenly released as his body jerked upward, convulsed, erupted in a white-hot gush, enough to choke her as she fought to swallow, enough to leak from her lips, down over him as he gasped and moaned and struggled to breathe.  She broke the suction, only to lick him clean.  Somewhere in the haze of his brain, he tried to tell her no, to stop, but he couldn’t form the words . . .

It took only a moment for him to gather his wits.  Shifting his hold on her, plunging his finger deep inside her, he flicked the tip of his tongue over her.  She rose on her knees, her head falling back as she cried out, her body shaking, quaking around his finger as she rocked her hips against him.

She crumpled to the side, staring at him in a dazed sort of way, eyes darkened to nearly black as he groped for the condom that had fallen from his hand.  Pushing himself up, he tore the packet open, rolled the condom into place as he leaned down to kiss her.  She uttered a little cry, almost a sob, as she kissed him back, her lips opening to him as the taste of their bodies mingled together on their tongues.  Reaching down, he carefully pulled her up onto her knees, scooted in behind her, breaking the kiss as he reached under her, as he grasped her breasts in his hands, as he slammed into her hard.

She screamed, her head rearing back as her body arched down, as she brought her ass up high, meeting the thrust of his body with a crazy-mad force of her own.  "My name," he growled as he drove into her.  "Say it . . ."

"A . . . Ash . . ." she squeaked.  "Oh, _God_ . . ."

He uttered a territorial kind of laugh that turned into a long, drawn out groan as he felt that familiar tightening all over again.  She was so wet, so tight, so incredibly hot, he couldn't control it, couldn't stop himself.  Straightening up, grasping her hips, he gave up the attempt to prolong it, bearing into her as hard and as fast as he could as her body convulsed around him again, as his name tumbled from her lips, as hers did from his . . .

And he couldn't stop, either, despite the gush, the flow.  Jessa slid forward, her breathing so shallow, so labored . . . He leaned forward, catching himself on his hands before letting himself fall to the side as he pulled her close, kissed her cheek, rocking his hips against her ass, kissing her throat as she whined and whimpered and whispered his name, over and over again . . . Reaching down, grasping her knee, he lifted her leg, shifted his knee between them.  She instinctively ground herself against him, their bodies moving together, creating a beautiful rhythm, a breathtaking flow . . .

"You're mine, Jessa," he whispered in her ear, nipped at her earlobe.  "Only mine . . . My _Amaterasu_ . . ."

"Y . . . Yes," she murmured, eyes closed, one hand grasping his hip, the other wrapped over his arm that held her close.  "Yes . . ."

She cried out again, grinding herself against his knee as a surge of male pride shot through him, but he didn't have time to savor it.  Her orgasm was harsh, intense, constricting the muscles in her body around him, painfully—inebriating and dark, and he grunted, growled, couldn't hold on as his own release followed fast on hers, leaving him reeling, leaving him reaching . . .

Leaving him breathless . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_A/N_** :
> 
>  ** _Amaterasu_** _: Japanese goddess of the sun_.
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Okmeamithinknow ——— monsterkittie ——— minthegreen ——— Athena_Evarinya ——— Amanda+Gauger
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _His … but what does he mean_ …?


	36. Denial

' _We should probably get back to the house soon . . ._ '

Ashur ignored the musings of his youkai-voice, pulling Jessa a little closer, savoring the feel of her body, still holding his so tightly.

' _Yeah, and we should probably pull out, too . . . I mean, you're pushing it, coming twice in those things, but three times?  You can't do it . . . It won't hold._ '

' _Shut up and let me savor this just a little longer,_ ' he retorted.

His youkai voice heaved a disapproving sigh that he summarily ignored.

Jessa giggled suddenly.  He grimaced as the chain reaction shot straight to his cock.  "You're so clever, Ashur Philips," she murmured, her eyes still closed, her cheeks still flushed from their lovemaking.

He smiled rather vaguely, flicking the pad of his thumb over her still-swollen nipple, unleashing a riot of gooseflesh on her.  "You think so?"

"Mmm . . ."

He kissed her cheek.

She sighed, but it was a contented sound.  "What's that mean?" she asked suddenly, turning her shoulders in an effort to see his face, but she didn't move from the waist down—she never did, come to think of it, not if it meant that he would slip out of her . . .

He arched an eyebrow.  "What does what mean?"

"What you called me," she said, her already rosy cheeks darkening just a little.  "Amarat—something?"

" _Amaterasu_ ," he repeated.  "She is the Japanese goddess of the sun."

" _Amaterasu_ . . ." She considered that for a moment, then smiled.  "I like that . . ."

"Mmm . . ." He tucked her a little closer, sheltered her as near to him as he could, allowing himself this lazy idyll, savoring the feeling of being so very close to her.

"So, if I'm your Amaterasu, what are you?" she asked.

"Me?  I'm nothing," he replied.  He felt her back stiffen slightly, and he tightened his grip before she could try to move away.  "I don't mean it like that," he said.  "I'm just not a god or a deity . . . But I can be whatever you want me to be for you."

She relaxed against him.  "Whatever I want . . .?"

"Yeah."

She let her head fall against his forearm again, snuggling against him a little more, savoring the warmth of his body, he supposed.  "Then . . . can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he replied, reaching up to stroke her hair, mesmerized by the rich color of the single strands, the way they lent her a feeling of shadows and light . . .

Jessa cleared her throat, seemed to be deliberating something for a moment.  "That woman in the restaurant," she finally said.  "Who . . .? Who is she?"

And just like that, the moment shattered.  Grimacing as he heaved a sigh, Ashur carefully withdrew from her, sat up with a scowl as he carefully pulled off the spent condom.

He didn't answer as he dug a hole and buried it, said nothing as he got up and strode into the water to wash himself off.  Turning his head just far enough to see her, he grimaced when she sat up, brought up her knees, wrapping her arms around her legs as her hair fell over her.

Even so, he took his time as he rinsed off before finally striding out of the water once more, before returning to her to sit down, to give her the answer she deserved, even if he really wasn't sure just how much of it he could stand to tell her . . .

"Her name is . . . is Hana.  She was my oldest friend—my best friend—for a very long time . . ."

Jessa didn't seem at all surprised by his admission.  "But she . . . She's not anymore . . .?"

He shook his head.  "No, she's not.  Things happened, and . . ." Dragging his hands through his hair, he shrugged.  "Things I can't forgive her for, and I can't . . . I can't help the way I feel . . ."  He flinched, sighed.  "She—"

Jessa's hand on his arm cut him off, and when he glanced up, he saw the sadness in her gaze, felt it in her aura.  "She hurt you," she murmured.  "I'm sorry I asked . . ."

He let out a deep breath, stretched out on his side and pulled her down next to him.  "Don't be sorry," he told her.  "It's just a long, messed up story, and I . . . I wouldn't even know where to begin or how to explain it to you."

She nodded, tangling her fingers in his hair.  "Maybe you'll tell me someday," she said, managing a small smile that he knew was solely for his own benefit.

He didn't reply, but he kissed her: a gentle, sweet thing that she accepted for what it was, even as he heard the whispers in the back of his mind, the understanding that he was being a coward, that he was entirely selfish in accepting her acquiescence because it was easier than laying the truth out at her feet . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

As they neared the edge of the tree line, Jessa stopped, tugging on Ashur's hand to draw his attention.  He turned to raise an eyebrow at her.  "Something wrong?"

She made a face, glancing down at her clothes—or lack thereof since she'd put her bra and panties back on, along with the sweater since it hung to mid-thigh, but she hadn't put the riding pants on again—they were still way too damp to even attempt it. Ashur wasn't much better, given that he no longer had a shirt since she'd burned it, and his pants were horribly rumpled and wet and basically . . . Add to that, the disheveled hair—if his looked entirely unkempt, she didn't even want to think about the state of hers, and . . . She grimaced.  Well, they looked entirely suspect.

She shook her head.  "I can't take Stardust back to the stable—not when I look like this!" she grumbled.

He chuckled.  "What you look like?  Well, to be honest, you look like you've been well and truly fu—"

"Don't finish that!" she cut in, unable to staunch the blush that shot to the fore as she smashed her hand over his mouth.

He chuckled and pulled her hand down, kissing her fingers before letting go.  "Well, you do."

She groaned, and he relented, taking the reins from her.  "Can you sneak in through your balcony?"

She considered that and then nodded.  "But what about you?"

He shrugged.  "I'll tell them the truth.  You burned my shirt off, got me soaking wet, then had your way with me."

She gasped, but narrowed her eyes when she realized that he was joking.  "You're impossible," she grumbled as she started to stomp away.

He pulled her back, kissed her soundly, then swatted her gently on the rear.  "The coast is clear.  You'd better run now."

She spared a moment to cast him an entirely coy sort of look before breaking into a sprint, directly toward the balcony of her room.

She didn't breathe until she'd reached the relative sanctuary of her room, but one glance in the mirror over her bureau made her groan out loud.  She still had bits of grass tangled in her hair, and her face . . . There was a wild sort of look in her eyes, a few smudges of dirt still staining her skin.  Dropping her clothes on the floor to deal with later, she hurried into the bathroom to shower.

The steaming hot water felt good, especially after the comparatively cold water of the pond.  Being a fire youkai, she supposed, she felt those variances in temperature far more acutely than most others did.  In any case, she leaned back, let the hot water flow over her as she let out a deep breath, a quiet moan.

Just the memory of Ashur, of his hands, of his body, was nearly her undoing.  Running her hands up over her skin, she grimaced, willing away the thoughts before she ended up, trying to find another reason to closet herself away with him . . .

She sighed, reaching for the shampoo as she shook her head.  Just what was that man doing to her, anyway?  She was a lady, wasn't she?  Ladies weren't supposed to have sex on the brain like she did . . .

"He's ruining me," she muttered, but giggled a moment later.  ' _Well, if I'm going to be ruined, that's a bloody good way to go . . ._ '

' _Your darling ma would be turning over in her grave if she could hear you now, Jessamyn O'Shea,_ ' her youkai lamented.

' _Hmm . . . That's Amaterasu, goddess of the sun, to you._ '

Her youkai heaved a long-suffering sigh, and by the time Jessa had finished her shower and brushed her teeth, she was feeling much more like her old self again.

Since she felt like going out and training a little, she grabbed a pair of shorts and a slightly oversized tee-shirt, but grimaced when she tried to run a brush through her hair. Somehow, she'd managed to get a few more tangles in it than usual, and the resulting mess of it was more than she wanted to deal with.  Rifling through her drawers for a pair of scissors that she didn't have, she heaved a sigh, dragging it all over her shoulder as she headed for the door.

She could hear the television in the living room, blaring out some cartoon or another, and she poked her head around the corner, smiling to herself when she spotted Kells, sitting on the sofa with a box of Chex cereal.  Not exactly the best meal, but she hadn't thought to make breakfast this morning before she'd taken off on Stardust.

But she had seen a pair of shears in the kitchen, so that's where she headed next.

She had just gathered her hair together and was ready to lop the length of it off, when a very loud curse made her turn as a pair of large hands yanked the scissors out of her grasp.  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Ashur growled as he tossed the scissors on top of the cabinets that lined the wall.

She wrinkled her nose.  "My hair's all tangled.  I was going to cut it off."

"The hell you will!" he retorted, looking like she'd just said the craziest thing that he could think of.

She rolled her eyes.  "It'll be back by tomorrow morning," she pointed out.  "It's easier to cut it off than to get a brush through it."

He snorted, crossing his arms over his chest—he still hadn't changed his clothes yet.  "Where's your brush?"

"In my room."

He grunted.  "Go get it.  I'll brush it out."

She made a face.  "Oh, that's insane.  Just give me the scissors."

"No."

"It'll take way too long," she pointed out.

He wasn't impressed.  "I'm going to go take my shower, and then I'll brush your hair out for you, but you are not—not—to cut it off.  If you do, I'll beat you."

"It's hair," she snapped.

"It's _mine_ ," he snapped back.

"Ugh," she groaned, rolling her eyes again as she crossed her arms over her chest and collapsed back against the counter.  He spared her a long, narrow-eyed look before turning on his heel and stomping out of the kitchen once more.

"What . . . the hell . . . was that?" she muttered to herself.

A very feminine laugh behind her drew her attention.  "He loves your hair, Jessa," Manami said with a shrug.  "I do, too, as a matter of fact, but not quite like he does."  She set her bag on the table and started rummaging through it.  "Go get your brush.  I think  have something that'll help . . ."

Against her better judgment, she did.  After all, she'd had her hair all of her life, and no matter what kind of serums or treatments her mother had bought or that she'd tried, she'd never actually found anything that truly helped if it got this tangled.  It always ended up the same way: with a huge knot of hair lying on the floor and a new mass of untangled hair in the morning . . .

Still, she was willing to try, she supposed, if it would appease Ashur . . . even if the end result was her getting to say, 'I told you so' . . .

By the time she reached the kitchen, hairbrush in hand, Manami was standing, rubbing her hands together as she gestured for Jessa to come closer.  "What's that?" she asked as she sank down in a chair.

Manami gathered her hair back and gently worked the concoction into the length of it.  "It's an herbal hair mask, specially formulated for youkai hair," she said.  "One of Zelig's family friends makes it—Madison, her name is.  She has a chain of salons and spas.  It works miracles, I tell you . . ."

Jessa wasn't entirely sure she believed that, but she handed Manami the brush and blinked as the woman quickly managed to work the tangles out of her hair.  "Wow . . . I may have to get some of that," she allowed, picking up the jar and looking it over.

Manami laughed.  "It works on human hair, too, but it works best on ours . . . I've got another jar at home, if you want to keep that one."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, handing the brush back to Jessa.  "Absolutely.  It'll look a little shiny for an hour or so, but once it dries up, you won't even feel it."

Pulling her hair over her shoulder, Jessa slowly shook her head.  "I can't believe it . . ."

Manami winked as she hurried over to wash her hands.  "I don't think there's a Madison's up here, so I'll send you a couple jars the next time I go in to have my hair done," she offered.

"Oh, how much are they?"

Manami waved a hand as she stepped away and retrieved her bag.  "I'll bill Ashur," she replied with a wink.  Slinging the strap of the bag over her shoulder, she started out of the kitchen, only to stop on the threshold to turn back once more.  "Jessa . . ."

"Hmm?" she said, reading over the ingredients.

Manami smiled.  "You're really good for him," she said.

Jessa blinked and bit her lip, unsure exactly what she ought to say about that.  Manami laughed and blew her a kiss.  "Tell Ashur thanks for his hospitality, but I really must get going.  Bye!"

A minute later, the sound of the front door closing drifted back to her, and Jessa sighed.

"Manami just leave?" Ashur asked, striding back into the room with a towel draped around his neck and a fresh pair of jeans though he'd skipped the shirt for the moment.

"You have jeans?" she blurted before she could stop to think about it.  It was the first time she'd seen him wear something like that, and to be honest, she hadn't actually realized that he owned any.

He glanced down at himself then shrugged.  "It's Saturday," he told her, "and I've decided that I'm not working today."

She snorted.  "Can you do that?" she challenged quietly since she happened to know that the man tended to work himself to distraction more often than not.

"And it's Kells' last weekend before preschool starts, so I thought we should do something with him."

"So, it's not going to be an, 'every Saturday thing'," she concluded.

He strode over, pulled her hair back, letting it run through his fingers.  "I have fantasies about this hair," he said, ignoring her statement as he brought a handful of her hair to his nose.

She turned far enough to peer up at him, her gaze narrowing suspiciously.  "What kind of fantasies?" she asked slowly.

He chuckled.  "Get your shoes on," he told her, again ignoring her as he let go of her hair and stepped back, grabbing the towel around his neck and holding onto both ends.  "Kells!"

The boy dashed into the kitchen, bypassing his father as he threw himself onto Jessa's lap.

Ashur rolled his eyes.  "You want to go pick out a pony?"

Kells gasped and let go of Jessa in favor of hopping over to his father.  "A pony?  I can have a pony?"

Ashur nodded.  "I'm going to grab a shirt, and  you're going to wash your hands and face and put your shoes on, right?"

"Yeah!" Kells hollered as he took off out of the kitchen to thunder up the stairs.

She stood up and smiled at him.  "Are you going to get a pony?" she asked.

He shrugged.  "I may.  I don't know how often I'll ride it, but . . ."

"I could teach you," she ventured.

He made a face.  "I'm never going to be an equestrian," he told her.  "But it might be all right every now and then."

Her smile widened as he strode out of the room, probably to find a shirt, and she followed him.  For a day that had started out so badly, she really had nothing that she could complain about, did she . . .?

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Quinn ——— Silent Reader ——— smpnst ——— sutlesarcasm
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** ShiroNeko316 ——— Amanda+Gauger
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— lianned88 ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Kells_** :  
>  _A pony!  A pony!_


	37. Carol

Jessa knocked on the door frame before stepping inside the apartment.  Carol glanced up and grinned as she set the suitcase down and hurried over to hug her.  "I can't believe you're here to stay!" Jessa exclaimed, giving her friend a squeeze.  "I'm so glad you decided to come early."

Carol laughed.  "Well, I was talking to this guy—William McKay.  He comes in from time to time—very polite, not the usual type, you know?  He stands out like a sore thumb, actually.  Expensive suits, very clean . . . Anyway, the last time he came in, I was making small talk, asked him what he does, and he said that he has a club up here, that he comes down from time to time to visit suppliers and stuff like that.  So, I told him that I was planning on moving up here, and he gives me his number, tells me to call him when he's back home, that he'd love to run a background check on me and if it came back clear, he'd offer me a job: full benefits, better pay, _not_ a strip joint.  He calls it a gentlemen's club, but I checked into it, and there's nothing shady going on there.  They even have a dress code: black skirts no shorter than three inches above the knee, white blouses, no heels over two inches, so no more teetering around on ho-heels . . . I start Monday."  She gave Jessa another quick hug.  "I was thinking about saving up some money, taking some classes at the university—restaurant management or something like that."

"And Laith?" Jessa countered, lowering her voice in case the man in question happened to be nearby—not likely at this time of day, but she still wasn't taking any chances.

Carol tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled a little secretively.  "Well, we did talk quite a bit during my visit—I told you about all of that.  He's . . . He's very nice—a little quiet, but there's nothing wrong with that . . . I just . . . I just don't want to come on too strong with him."  She sighed.  "He seems like the type that might get spooked pretty easily."

"Well, he does ask me about you now and then . . . Didn't  you give him your phone number?"

"I did," she confessed.  "We've been talking . . . texting . . ."

"Good," Jessa concluded.

Carol giggled, then raised an eyebrow.  "Enough about me . . . How are things going with Ashur?"

She couldn't help the blush that stained her cheeks, couldn't help the smile, either . . . Given that they'd spent most of the night before—as well as most of the nights in the last two weeks since the argument by the pond—exploring each other's bodies?  And she'd ended up so dead exausted this morning that he hadn't been able to wake her, which was why Ashur had picked Carol up at the airport alone . . .

"That good, huh?  Did my, uh . . . _present_ . . . come in handy?"  The blush darkened as Carol laughed.  "Is that right?"  Carol hurried over, closed the door, before tugging Jessa over to the sofa.  "Are you going to give me details?"

Jessa grimaced.  "Carol, I can't," she insisted.  "I mean . . ."

Carol's smile dimmed just a little as her mouth dropped open.  "Are you in love?"

Jessa opened and closed her mouth, unable to answer that question out loud.  The answer was plain enough, and yet, some part of her . . .

She nodded slowly.  "Is . . . Is  he in love . . .?"

Biting her lip, Jessa shook her head.  "I . . . I don't know," she replied quietly.

Carol made a face and sighed, slipping an arm around Jessa's shoulders, giving her a reassuring squeeze.  "Ah, that wonderful but awkward time in every relationship, huh . . .?  Does he . . .? Doesn't he . . .?  Do I . . .? Don't I . . . ? Well, Jess, I wouldn't worry too much.  I mean, as gorgeous as you are?  If he doesn't love you yet, he will soon enough."  She kissed Jessa's temple then stood up.  "I think I'll see if Laith would mind taking me into town so I can pick a few things up at the store: soap, toothpaste . . . stuff like that.  Want to come?"

Jessa stood up, too and followed Carol outside.  "I'd love to, but Ashur's got someone stopping by soon, so I need to watch Kells."

"All right," Carol agreed.  "I'll come up to the house when I get back."

Jessa nodded and watched as Carol headed for the stables, her smile fading slowly as she stifled a sigh.

" _Is . . . Is he in love . . .?_ "

She . . . She knew the answer to that question, didn't she?  Knew it and . . . and hated it . . . Sex was one thing.  She knew that he had a healthy preoccupation with her body, but she wasn't nearly dumb enough to equate the two, either . . . He cared about her; she didn't doubt that in the least.  But he didn't . . . didn't love her . . . and she wasn't fool enough to try to convince herself otherwise.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Bas strode into the office, tossing a manila envelope on the desk as Ashur jerked back and shot the future North American tai-youkai a quelling look.  "Who let you in?" he asked dryly.

Bas chuckled and flopped down in one of the chairs facing Ashur's desk with a heavy sigh as he slumped to the side and rubbed his forehead with a weary hand.  "Jessa did," he said.  "Oh, yeah, I have this for you, too . . ."  Digging into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, he flicked very fine linen envelope onto the packet he'd already handed over.  "Mom was going to mail it, but when I mentioned that I was coming up here today, she asked me to hand deliver it, so . . . done."

"What is it?" he asked, reaching for the envelope, turning it over in his hands. "The Zelig Foundation?" he read on the back flap.

Bas nodded.  "It's just an invitation to the annual benefit gala held in New York City every summer-slash-fall, depending.  I think she mentioned having a pre-gala dinner for the generals and all the other big wig youkai that are flying in for the event this year, though—something about wanting to introduce  you properly . . ." He grimaced.  "Ten thousand bucks a seat for everyone but you since you're kind of the guest of honor, but it's all for charity, so . . ."

"The generals," Ashur repeated.  "Isn't that kind of like extortion?"

Bas chuckled.  "Yeah, but would you _really_ say that to my mom?"

Ashur shrugged.  "Your father?  Yes.  Your mother?  Not in this lifetime."  He frowned, thoughtfully scratching his chin.  "How did your father end up with your mother?  She's so . . . sweet . . . and he's . . . _not_."

Bas barked out a hoot of laughter.  "He got lucky at some point, I guess," he said.  "I suppose we all do, come to think of it . . ."

"Ah, your Sydnie . . . A cat and a dog . . . How ironic . . ."

"So I've been told."  Bas nodded slowly.  "Anyway, the Zelig Foundation is a very worthwhile charity, which I can say since I don't really do much but write checks to it every now and then.  I mean, sure, if we have a project we find out about that is something we care about, we can usually push for funding.  It's funded a lot of very necessary research for children and some for further understanding of youkai genetics, but for the most part, it's really Mom's busywork . . . I have to go this year because of this dinner—thanks for that, Ashur.  Ordinarily, I avoid it if at all possible since the last time I agreed to go, she auctioned me off."

"She what?" Ashur asked, letting the envelope drop from his fingertips.

Bas sighed.  "There's always a bachelor auction," he explained.  "Usually one of the highlights of the evening—as long as you're not one of the eligible bachelors, anyway . . ."

"Yeah, I think I'll pass on that," Ashur muttered.

"The auction or the gala?"

He grunted.

Bas chuckled again.  "Don't worry.  She already has a full list of poor fools that she's talked into offering their time—and the gala's usually not that bad—dancing, schmoozing, hobnobbing with some hopelessly snobbish people overall, but not terrible.  You really should go.  Besides, it's something that you really should attend at least once.  Then you can make your excuses every year after that."

Ashur nodded.  "I'll think about it," he replied.

"Good . . . I'll tell Mom that you're good for the dinner and that you'll let her know about the gala.  Fair?"

Seeing no way around it, Ashur nodded again.  After all, if the tai-youkai's wife wanted to throw a formal dinner to introduce you to the others of the upper echelons, he figured that it wasn't really something he could back out of.  "I guess I could spare one evening for your mother," he allowed.

Bas nodded slowly, his grin stating plainly enough that he'd figured that would be Ashur's reply.  "Anyway, that's all of Jessa's documentation, including her formal approval for amnesty.  Found out that since she's technically got UK citizenship because of her father, she can get dual US citizenship, too, if she's interested.  It's a lot of red tape, but if she got it, it might light a fire under MacDonnough's ass in regards to settling her estate.  I'm sorry it took so long to get all that for her."

Ashur frowned thoughtfully.  Birth certificate, second level education Leaving Certificate, driver's license . . . There were a few other papers in there, too, but he didn't read through them before shoving everything back in the envelope once more and setting it aside.  "Did you find out anything else?"

He nodded slowly.  "It took awhile, but I managed to track down the mechanic that did the inspection of her mom's car.  He wasn't very helpful, though . . . He seemed a tad nervous."

"What'd he say?"

"He admitted that there wasn't anything wrong with the car when he inspected it.  He said that they always pay extra attention to things like fuel lines, make sure that everything is well maintained and solid . . . Said he didn't know what happened to the files from that shop.  It closed down just after Jessa's mom's accident.  Judging from the nervous way he kept looking around when I was talking to him, I'd say that he was just a little worried."

Ashur stared at Bas.  There was something in the depths of the man's gaze, something troubled, something he wasn't saying . . . "Can we bring him over?  Get him out of MacDonnough's jurisdiction?"

Bas made a face, pursed his lips as he slowly shook his head.  "I already tried that," he admitted.  "The guy said he wasn't really interested in jumping ship.  Still . . ."

"Still?" Ashur prompted when Bas trailed off.

Bas sighed, scratching the back of his neck as he straightened up in his chair.  "He was jumpy as hell.  He was scared of something—or some _one_.  Getting him out of there . . . Not sure we can do it, especially if he's got family there, too."

Standing up, Ashur shoved his hands into his pockets as he rounded the desk.  "Come on," he said, letting the subject drop for the moment.  "You look like you could use a beer."

Bas stood up, too, following Ashur out of the office.  "Yeah, sounds good," he agreed.  "Just one, though, then I've got to get going.  Promised Sydnie I'd take her out tonight, and if there's one thing I've figured out?  You never, ever stand _that_ woman up . . ."

Ashur chuckled.  "Sharpen her claws on you, will she?"

Bas shook his head as Ashur retrieved a couple bottles of beer from the fridge in the wetbar.  "Nope, but she has these killer stilettos . . . and trust me, they _hurt . ._."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa trailed behind Kells as the boy dragged her into his room, tugging on her hand to hurry her along.  After having spent the afternoon, teaching him some of the basics of horse handling, he was dusty and dirty and positively glowing—so much so that she'd had to talk him into taking a shower since he insisted that he only had to take one in the morning, 'wif Daddy'.  She'd won that round, though, and he'd emerged a few minutes ago, fresh and clean and smelling of baby shampoo and bubble gum flavored tooth paste . . .

"I want to hear the dinosaur story!" Kells insisted as he let go of her hand and hopped onto the bed, pointing at the bright blue shelf where he kept his favorite books.

She laughed softly and retrieved the story while he scooted around to make room for her beside him on the tiny bed.  "All right," she said as she stretched out beside him, slipping an arm around him and opening the book so that they could both see it.  "I'm not as good at the voices as your da, though," she reminded him, "and just the one story.  You've preschool in the morning."

He scrunched up his face, likely trying to figure out if there was a way to negotiate a longer story time.  Last night, it was the, 'I need to catch up on stories 'cause I was gone 'way,' attempt.  The night before that, it was the, 'Will you read until I'm done with my water?' defense.  To be honest, she had to give him points for creativity, even if she hadn't given in on the issue—yet.

"But it isn't dark outside yet, Jessa," he said, lowering his chin, gazing up at her through the heavy fringe of impossibly thick, dark eyelashes that were so like his father's that, for a moment, Jessa blinked, stared.

Forcing a laugh as she brushed aside the hesitation at the entirely too-uncanny resemblance between the two, she slowly shook her head.  "That's so, but I seem to recall a certain young lad who kept nodding off over his dinner," she reminded him.

Stifling a yawn with both of his hands, smashed over his mouth, he blinked to dispel the rising moisture brought on by the action.  "But I'm not really tired, and Daddy's still not home . . ."

She sighed, letting go of the book as she lifted a hand to gently ruffle his hair, pulled him in close to kiss his head.  "He will be soon," she promised.  He'd had to go meet someone for dinner—just another of his eager denizens, he'd told her.  But he'd left hours ago, and the last thing he'd said before he walked out the door was that it wouldn't take long . . .

Biting back the urge to sigh, Jessa turned the page.  "'There once was a dino named Jake who lived in the Valley of the Big Sun.  All day long, he stretched his neck to eat the leaves that grew high above the forest floor, but the most tender leaves were too low for him to reach . . .'"

"Why can't he reach them, Jessa?" Kells asked, leaning away to peer up at her.  "He could just lay down, and then he'd be smaller . . ."

She smiled.  "Maybe he's too big to lie down," she said.  "Horses can't lie down for too long, either.  They can hurt themselves if they do, and a dinosaur is much bigger than a horse, right?"

He considered that for a long moment, then he nodded.  "Do they die if they lie down?"

"Well, no," she said.  "But if they're down for too long, they can cause themselves some very serious problems.  Anyway, I think that's why Jake can't lie down to eat."

"What kind of problems?" Kells persisted.

"It's called reperfusion, which is a big word that means that the animal cannot get the right blood flow to certain parts of their bodies, so when the weight is taken off, and the blood starts flowing again, it can cause a lot of problems for them.  They're so big that their weight can crush things inside them if they lie down too long."

"'Cause they're fat?"

She laughed, giving him a little squeeze.  "Not . . . exactly . . . They're just large animals.  That's all.  It's kind of like how your hand feels if you lean on it too long."

His eyes flared wide, his mouth rounded in an 'o'.  "When it's tingly!"

"Yes, just like that," she said.

"Oh, is that what happens?"

"Daddy!" Kells hollered, hopping out of bed and dashing over to his father.

Ashur chuckled and scooped him up, cuddling him on his shoulder for a minute before walking over to set him down on the bed.  "It's past your bed time," he pointed out, even though he didn't sound at all irritated.  "Were you waiting up for me?"

Kells nodded happily.  "You can read wif us, Daddy," he said.

Ashur ruffled his hair.  "There's no room," he told Kells, frowning in mock concentration at Kells' tiny bed.  Even then, he still hunkered down beside it, leaning in so that he could see the book, too.

Jessa smiled, read Kells another few pages, only to stop when Ashur reached over and gently pulled the book away.  She glanced at him, and he shook his head before jerking it in Kells' direction. The boy was sound asleep with the vaguest smile on his adorable little face, one hand tangled in Jessa's hair, the other with a tight grip on the end of Ashur's ponytail.

She didn't get up right away, sparing a few minutes, just to watch over him as he slept.  Ashur did, too, but finally, he carefully pulled his hair out of Kells' fist and pushed himself to his feet.

Jessa untangled her hair from his tiny fingers, pulled his blanket up to his chin before blowing him a kiss and following Ashur out of the room.

"How was your dinner?" she asked as he quietly closed the door, then headed for the stairs.

His gait faltered for just a moment, more of a breath than a real hesitation, and he shrugged.  "It was fine," he said, his tone almost clipped, as he tugged off his tie with a deft yank and dropped it over the newel post.  Somewhere between the time that he'd entered the house and when he'd appeared in Kells' doorway, he'd discarded the suit jacket, too.  Stepping into the office, he flicked on the light before stopping abruptly, turning on his heel, leaning against the door jamb, hands dug deep in his pockets, to stare at her, his gaze darkened, his brow knitted together in a thoughtful scowl.  "I lied," he said with a grimace.  "Dinner . . . was pretty bad, actually."

She stopped, leaned on the newel post, unsure exactly what he was saying.  "The food wasn't to your liking?" she drawled.

He made a face, lip curling up in a rather cynical sneer.  "The food was fine," he countered mildly.  "The old bastard wanted to introduce me to his daughters—his three very single daughters."

"Oh," she said, pressing her lips together in a tight line since she had a feeling that her laughter might well set him right off.  "I take it you weren't interested?"

That comment earned her a very significant scowl.  "I ought to beat you," he muttered, stomping out of the office and down the short hallway, rounding the corner and making a beeline directly through the living room and straight to the wetbar.  "I need a fucking drink."

"Was there something wrong with them?" she asked, following him into the living room.

He sighed, tapping his forehead between the eyes with his fingertips before flipping his wrist, flicking his palm up in an entirely dismissive sort of gesture.  "They were fine.  They were very lovely girls—ladies.  They weren't my type—and I can probably tell you everything about them, because it seemed like their father was trying to sell them off, one by one."

"Oh . . . Oh, dear," she mumbled, her fingers hovering at her lips as she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing outright.

He sloshed more brandy into his snifter than he usually did, turning on his heel, leaning back against the cabinet, ankles crossed on the floor as he sucked in one cheek and cocked his head to the side.  "It's not nearly as funny as you seem to think," he told her flatly.

"Mm," she intoned, wrapping an arm over her stomach, resting her elbow on her hand, covering her mouth with her raised fist.  "A little," she allowed.

He shook his head, narrowing his gaze on her as he drained half of the contents of the snifter in one fortifying gulp.  "You're not even slightly jealous, are you?"

She shrugged.  "Do I need to be?"

He snorted and quaffed the rest of the brandy.  "Not really."

She shrugged again.  "Then, no."

He made a show of rolling his eyes as he turned away to refill the snifter.  "Every time I tried to make my excuses, he'd start lauding more of their collective accolades."  He shook his head.  "I don't get it.  I mean, objectively speaking, they really were very nice girls—well mannered, very polished, very self-confident . . . I'm not sure why he had to employ the strong-arm tactics . . ."

Wrinkling her nose, Jessa made a face that he missed entirely.  "Probably for the same reason that my ma would start doing the same sort of thing to me . . ."

He snorted, stepping away from the wetbar, wandering over to stare out of the falling night outside.  "Glad there weren't any takers," he muttered.  "Besides, you hardly need a list of recommendations . . . Just how is it that you weren't snatched up, right off the bat, anyway?"

"I'm hardly a bit of chattel," she complained, her amusement dying away at the implication of what he'd said.

He sighed.  "And just how is it, that after all of that, I'm the one who ends up feeling dirty, anyway?"

"Do you?"

He swung around to face her, his eyes taking on a certain glow—one that was all-too familiar to her.  Staring very deliberately at her in such a way that made her feel entirely naked, entirely vulnerable, that weakened her knees and made her heart race, he slowly drained the snifter again and set it aside.

"Why don't you come here and make me feel a little dirtier?" he rumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

For the space of an instant, she fleetingly considered telling him that she was tired.  The half-smile on his face, however, drew her forward, and she gasped softly when he grabbed her, when he dragged her against him, when he lowered his lips to hers—a kiss of seduction and promise and secrets . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_A/N_** :
> 
>  _The established Leaving Certificate is the main basis upon which places in universities, institutes of technology and colleges of education are allocated_.
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** xSerenityx020
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Okmeamithinknow ——— minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Crow
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _Throwing his daughters at him?  Hmph!_


	38. Secrets

Jessa awoke slowly, swimming up through layers of sleep as she slowly, groggily, opened her eyes, blinking a few times to clear her vision.  Pushing herself up on her elbow as she rubbed her face and tried to focus on the clock beside the bed, she realized with a low groan that it was almost nine, and she'd missed making Kells' breakfast yet again.

' _Oh, he's going to be so mad at me . . . or worse, he's going to pout at me . . . bat those eyes of his, make me feel like the evil step-mother in the fairy tales . . ._ '

Flopping back onto her pillow, burying her face in the downy softness, she heaved a sigh.  The sound of it was lost, effectively ruining her melodramatics.  It was all Ashur's fault, anyway.  If he hadn't come, sneaking into her room at nearly midnight—if he hadn't kept her awake well into the night—she would have gotten up in time to make Kells' breakfast and would have gotten him ready for preschool . . .

She was almost asleep again when the warmth of Ashur's lips on the back of her neck woke her again, drew a soft sigh from her as he slid into the bed with her, pulling the duvet up over them both as he slipped his arms around her, pulled her back against his chest.  "Are you going to sleep?" she murmured, eyes still closed as she savored the warmth of his body, as he molded himself around her, his leg draping over hers, the other, knee bent, nestled snuggly into the bend behind hers.

"Mhmm," he intoned, burying his face in her hair with a soft sigh—more of a breath, an exhalation.  "I want to," he said, hands gently brushing over her belly, fluttering over her breasts. "God, you're so warm, so soft . . ."

"Don't you have meetings or something today?" she asked, unable to control the breathlessness in her husky tone.

"No, worse," he muttered with a heavy sigh.  "Ben called while I was taking Kells to preschool.  Apparently, they're on their way up for a prolonged visit . . ."

"How long will they be staying?" she asked.  There was something odd about the resigned tone of his voice . . .

"He said something about 'a few weeks or so', which could mean anything from a couple weeks to a month or more.  His perception of time is somewhat skewed . . ."

She frowned.  "But isn't it bad form to just show up at one's house on such short notice?  I mean, brother or not, that seems awfully presumptuous . . ."

Ashur leaned up on his elbow, took his time, twirling a long lock of her hair around his finger as she rolled over onto her back and stared up at him.  "It's for Kells' sake," he said.  "Ben just wants to be close to him, given that he didn't know about me, nor I about him until I was . . . eighty or so, give or take a few years . . ."

The shock in her expression had to be obvious, and Ashur smiled a little sadly, but there was a trace of something else, too, something almost like . . . anger . . . "My parents were not the most forthcoming of people."

"But . . . to not tell you about your brother . . .?  For that long . . .?" she blurted.

He shrugged as though it were of little importance.  "Water under the bridge, Jessa.  Just let it flow."

She frowned at him, but he either missed it or simply decided that he didn't want to answer any more questions as he leaned down, nuzzled against her cheek.  The ticking of the clock resounded in her head like gunfire, and she sighed, giving up, at least for the moment, so that she could simply savor the closeness, the proximity of him.

"Damn, I'm going to miss this when Ben's here," he murmured, almost as an afterthought, almost more to himself than to her.

Those words, however, held absolute sway, shattering the fragile sense of serenity that she'd begun to savor over the past couple weeks.  Somehow, she couldn't seem to find her voice, couldn't meld together the words that she wanted . . . Couldn't bring herself to question, exactly what he meant . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Stepping into the lavish office, Carl Kingston inclined his head in deference to the European tai-youkai.

Ian MacDonnough gave a curt nod as he slowly turned to face the Englishman, taking his time, flicking a bit of lint from the otherwise immaculate sleeve of his impeccably tailored suit jacket.  "Have you located your son yet?" he asked, foregoing any pleasantries that should have been forthcoming.

"Not yet," Kingston admitted.  "He's not touched his accounts, has not left any kind of paper trail."

MacDonnough stared at him, his expression entirely inscrutable.  "Disgraceful," he concluded.  "As I thought."

"I will find him, my lord," he insisted, grinding his teeth together so hard that they groaned in his mouth.  "You have my word."

Ian slowly shook his head.  "My patience is wearing thin, Kingston," he warned.  "I went to a lot of trouble in securing this for you.  Keep me waiting for results much longer, and I may decide to endorse someone else's bid for your . . . prize . . ."

The less-than-subtle threat was not lost on him, and Kingston couldn't help the glower he shot the tai-youkai.  "My men are searching everywhere," he assured him.  "Might I remind you that acquiring her is of sovereign importance, not only to me, but the future benefits for you will be well worth your trouble."

"So you've said," MacDonnough replied dryly.  "I've had enough of your innuendo and your cleverly boorish little attempts at intrigue.  I expect results from a man of your station.  Your asinine family drama has dragged on long enough.  The next time I summon you, you will have answers—or I will withdraw my support in this entire venture."

Kingston managed a tight smile, a curt nod, as he backed toward the door, recognizing that MacDonnough had well and truly dismissed him.  It was far more difficult to hide his impatience as the old butler escorted him to the doors of the great castle.

No, it was simply unacceptable, the lack of headway that his agents were making.  None of them had reported as much as a potential sighting of the boy, and that rankled more than anything.

Slipping into his car, he tapped the window to alert the driver as he settled back in the luxurious vehicle.  It wasn't until the vehicle started to move that he reached over, hit the button on the console.  "Call Weaver," he said.

"Calling Weaver," the mechanical female voice replied, the beeps of the number being dialed crackling to life over the speakers.

"Hello?"

"This is Duke Portsmouth," he barked, slapping his gloves against his thigh.  "Have you found my son?"

Verne Weaver hesitated before answering—enough of a response, as far as he was concerned.  "Entirely incompetent," he growled.  "How bloody hard is it to locate a thirty-five year old wastrel?"

"With all due respect, Your Grace, I daresay the world is a very large area to be searching, and, without knowing what name he might be using, without knowing how he's managing to get by without the use of his accounts . . . But we're searching, I promise you!"

"I don't want your excuses, I want you to _find my son!_ " he bellowed.  Hitting the button to end the call, Kingston heaved a heavy sigh.  Curse Ian MacDonnough and his arrogance.  It would serve him right if he managed to locate that ungrateful brat—and the girl, too.

She was the key to it all, wasn't she?  The ultimate prize that he sought: the only thing that his son could possible do right—if he could be found, that was . . .

But it was all so close, so very, very close to bearing fruit . . . All the years of systematically locating any traces of the lore that existed, of systematically destroying it, all in the hopes that the old legends were left as nothing more than whispers in the dark, half forgotten by time and by generations who had lost sight of the true purpose, innumerable children who had grown up believing that blending into the shadows was the way, that cowering in the dark and hiding their natures was the only way to survive . . . The moment was nearly at hand—all he had to do was to bring the pieces together, and the result . . . The ancient prophecies . . .

' _And she shall rise from fire, fall to ash, and rise in flame; the burning of the sacred feather will smite the earth and rend the heavens . . ._ '

As the words rang in his head, he smiled just a little, but the sentiment did not touch his eyes . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ben relaxed on the sofa, idly swirling the contents of the brandy snifter in his hand as Kells and Emmeline drowsed, half on his lap, half on the middle seat cushion, side by side in the first real moment of quiet that they'd enjoyed since Kells got home from preschool.  Nadia was already out like a light, cuddled in the crook of Ashur's arm.

"So, there's been no suspicious activity to speak of around here?" Ben asked, emerald green eyes flicking up to meet Ashur's.

Ashur shook his head, looking back at the report in his free hand.  "Nope, not a thing.  Then again, I'm a general.  Would I really hear much about it if there were . . .?"

Ben nodded, long fingers tracing a ring around the rim of the glass in an idle sort of way as he considered what Ashur had said.  "Well, you know what they say: no news is good news . . . Maybe . . ."

Scowling as he let the report fall from his fingers onto his lap, Ashur shifted Nadia as he adjusted himself in the overstuffed easy chair.  "I don't know, Ben.  It's just . . . It feels _too_ quiet," he said, flicking a finger at the situation report that Ben had brought along with him.  "Nothing at all is moving over there?  Not a thing?  After everything that's happened . . . I don't know."

Ben sipped the cognac, stroked Kells' hair idly, broke into a wan smile as he stared at the boy.  "I think the report might well be vastly different if we were able to gather anything from the European jurisdiction."

Ashur snorted, leveling a dark look at his brother.  "That goes without saying," he muttered.  "Speaking of . . . Have you heard anything else on the whereabouts of the missing lord?"

"Nope," Ben said.  "Bas said he came up, filled you in on everything he found out?"

"Wasn't much," Ashur replied.  "At least, he was able to get Jessa's documentation released, so that's something."

Ben nodded, setting the snifter on the table beside the sofa.  "Considering it's MacDonnough we're talking about?  More of a minor miracle, if you ask me."

"All right, it's well past bed time," Charity said as she and Jessa hurried into the room.  She paused long enough to snap a picture before carefully taking Nadia from Ashur while Jessa scooped up Kells.  Luckily for him, it was Friday night, so he didn't have school in the morning.  She stopped beside Ashur, let him kiss the sleeping boy's cheek, before she headed out of the room once more.   "I'll be back to get her in a minute," Charity said, nodding at Emmeline.

Ben watched his wife go, a little smile quirking his lips.  Ashur slowly shook his head.  "Not that I mind that you're visiting," he began, hauling himself out of his chair and grabbing Ben's snifter to refill it, "but you actually brought Eddie along?"

Ben shrugged.  "She's got some family up here, so yeah.  Besides, she misses Kells, too."

He could believe that.  The housekeeper always had possessed a bit of a soft spot for the children, and when he and Kells had stayed with Charity and Ben while he looked for a place in New York City, she was constantly caught, carrying the boy around . . . "Well, make sure she knows that I don't expect her to work while she's here," he said.

Ben chuckled.  "As if you could stop her . . . She complains a lot, but she's not happy unless she's taking care of someone . . ."

"Which is why you should absolutely give her another raise," Charity remarked, hurrying back in to retrieve Emmeline.  "The woman's a saint to put up with you, Ben, the way you harass her sometimes."

"Me?" he grumbled incredulously.  "Have you heard the way she talks to me, Cherry?"

Charity rolled her eyes, cradling Emmeline in her arms.  "And you always deserve it, you know."

He snorted in rebuttal and slowly shook his head.  "I am so misunderstood . . ."

"Like hell," Ashur retorted, handing Ben his refilled snifter.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The soft knock on the doorframe drew Jessa's attention as she stood at the French doors, staring out into the night.  She turned, only to find Charity, standing there with a friendly smile on her pretty face.  "May I come in?" she asked, gesturing at the room.

Jessa nodded, smiled a little shyly.  "I was just looking at the moon," she said, pulling open the doors and shuffling out onto the stone balcony.  Charity followed her, perching herself on the thick stone railing.  "You're looking well," she commented, golden eyes glowing in the wan light filtering out of the bedroom.  "I've been meaning to talk to you, ask you how you're doing . . ." She shrugged.  "I know we've texted some, but it's just not really the same, is it?"

"I-I don't mind," Jessa replied.

"Ashur seems like he's a little more relaxed, too.  I'm glad.  I mean, he's been through a lot, you know?"  Charity sighed, gave a little shrug.  "I mean, I guess we all did, but he . . . Sometimes I think it was hardest on him.  Between his parents and Hana, and . . ." She trailed off, shaking her head, and Jessa wondered if Charity thought that she might know more than she actually did.

Jessa bit her lip, rubbed her arms though she wasn't cold.  "He doesn't talk about . . . about any of that," she admitted.  "All he's ever really said was just that his parents weren't like mine . . . that Hana was a lifelong friend . . . until she wasn't . . ."

Charity frowned, seeming almost uncomfortable.  "He . . . He hasn't told you . . . any of it . . .?"

She shook her head, feeling just a little smaller, a little more pathetic.  "We saw her," she admitted, unsure exactly why she was saying it at all.  "Hana . . . at a restaurant . . ."

"You did?  Ashur told her . . ." Waving a hand, she quickly shook her head.  "It doesn't matter, not really.  It's just . . ." Rubbing her forehead, she sighed.  "It's really not my story to tell," Charity finally said, and the look she gave Jessa was apologetic.  "I was there for a lot of it, but . . . but the actual story really belongs to Ashur . . . and to Ben . . ."

Jessa pulled her hair over her shoulder, idly twisted it around and around and around . . . "He said that his parents didn't tell him about Ben until he was nearly eighty," she ventured.  "That seems so . . ."

Charity nodded.  "I know.  It was hard for me to grasp, too, when Ben told me about it.  He found out from ojii-san—my grandfather . . . Their parents . . . They disowned Ben when he left home, when he came here with Sebastian—the first North American tai-youkai.  They had Ashur after that . . ."

"Why would they do that?  Why would they disown Ben?"

There was a certain sadness in Charity's gaze.  It added a brighter gold, a darker amber, to her eyes.  "Because they couldn't control him—because he didn't want to live the life they'd chosen for him, and instead of learning their lesson then, they did much the same thing to Ashur, too, only with him, they did it longer, maybe worse than they treated Ben.  At least, Ben was raised in apathy, more or less, but Ashur . . . Some of the things that they did to him were downright cruel . . ."  Shaking her head sadly, she turned, stared up at the somber moon. "I only know the things that Ashur himself has told me, and he hasn't ever really said much . . . Just enough to know that his childhood was . . . was sad and lonely . . . and the people who should have loved and cherished him . . . They didn't . . ."

Jessa sighed, mind rolling back, back to the earliest memories she had—the ones that were insular moments in time: static like pictures and not the full moving reel.  Those first memories . . . a smiling Ma, a doting Da . . . the echo of laughter, of hugs and kisses, songs and dancing . . . Over time, as she'd aged, those still images progressed, like the earliest version of film: choppy, grainy, carrying with them a dated sort of feel that she'd learned to appreciate as she'd grown older, even if they'd seemed so juvenile, so easy to be abandoned at the time, only to be dragged back up at a later moment, only to be seen for the cherished images that they were . . .

And always, in the cinema of her head, her parents were the constants: the love, the support, the security that they so selflessly gave to her.  It was true, she didn't always have the best relationship with her mother, but maybe that was normal, too.  After all, despite whatever disagreements they might have had, she knew deep down that her mother loved her, that she only ever wanted what was best for her, even if some of the things she'd said were a little harsh, even a little cold . . . But Ashur . . . He didn't have that, did he?  Didn't possess those base memories: the ones that would lay the foundation for everything he'd live, everything he'd love, everything he'd ever dream . . .

Charity suddenly laughed: a soft laugh, a gentle balm.  "He's relaxed more," she murmured, still gazing up at the moon, her hands wrapped around the legs she'd drawn up when she'd turned on the wide railing, sitting as quietly as the creeping dark.  "I see traces of the man I'd first met, you know?  That's something you've given back to him, Jessa, whether you know it or not . . . I wanted to thank you for that, because Ben and I . . ." she sighed, flinched slightly, but her smile did not fade.  "Ben and I couldn't do that—couldn't give that back to him.  We tried, you know?  But . . . But there's only so much we could do . . ."

Jessa's gaze skittered away—away to the tree line, denoted only by the deepening shadows, the gasping and almost imperceptible lightening that she had to look for in order to see.  She didn't deserve Charity's quiet thanks, did she?  Because the truth of it was, she couldn't change Ashur, didn't have the ability, the capacity, to reach him, even though she wanted to—desperately wanted to.  No, the only person who could do that was Ashur himself, and Ashur . . .

He clung to those things, didn't he?  Those dark things, those vile memories . . . He held to them with a fierceness, as though he were afraid that if he let them go, he would have nothing at all left inside, and it didn't matter if it were a conscious choice or not, did it?  Because Ashur . . .

She slowly shook her head.

Because Ashur . . . He didn't want her help, and he never really had . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He trudged up the stairs, letting the air whoosh out of his lungs as he rubbed the back of his neck with a weary hand.  It was late—early—whatever, and he was exhausted, and yet, he wasn't.  Restless, he figured, was a good word for it; for the unrest, the unsettled part of him that he knew would keep him awake until dawn.  If it weren't for Ben and Charity's presences in his home, he knew damn well where he'd have ended up.  Curse his luck for bringing that particular being into this close of a proximity, because if there was one thing he understood more than anything else, it was that hiding things from Ben was damn near impossible . . .

Hell if he didn't need her, though.  The unwelcome understanding that she was entirely too close was paramount to physical torture.  Pausing outside her door, his hand resting against the thick, unyielding surface, he stifled a sigh, closed his eyes, willed away the need, just to touch her, to hold her, to take the comfort she would so readily give him . . .

He stepped away from her room, grinding his teeth together as he forced himself to continue down the hallway.  True enough, Ben and Charity were carefully shut away in one of the guest rooms on the third floor.  It didn't really matter, though, not with Ben.  No, about the second that Ben caught any kind of hint that there was anything at all going on between Jessa and him, he'd pounce on it, either teasing Ashur forever or worse: deciding it was time to turn all big-brother on him, lecturing him on just what he thought he was doing with a girl so young, warning him that he was ultimately playing with fire, quite literally . . .

And the crux of it was that Ashur already knew all of those things.  He was well aware of the precarious and volatile relationship between himself and Jessa.  Knew it, and he couldn't stop it.  To be brutally honest, he didn't rightfully know if he even wanted to, which was scary as hell, if he really stopped to think about it.  Even so, it was a little daunting, maybe even a little frightening, wasn't it?  That initial fascination he'd felt, that instant and maybe even inevitable pull, hadn't dissipated, despite how many times they'd ended up in bed together.  No, if anything, it had grown, blossomed, somehow transmuted into a necessity, like water, like air . . . like _fire_ . . .

He paused outside Kells' room, quietly opening the door, staring at the tiny form, lost in the folds of the brightly colored Power Puppies comforter.  A vague smile flickered to life on his face.  The child that had saved him so long ago . . . He had no idea—none at all—and, God willing, he never would.  It was Kells who had pieced Ashur together back then, Kells who had given Ashur the focus that he so desperately had needed.  Kells, who had taught Ashur that it was okay to go on, that it was okay to want something different than the life he'd led up until that moment . . .

And yet, that same understanding . . .

Pushing away from the door frame, silently closing it behind him, he let out another long, deep breath, shuffling down the rest of the corridor, stepping into his room.

He sensed her presence as he closed the door, as she stepped up behind him, her arms slipped around his waist, the warmth of her body pressed against his back.

He turned, held her just for a moment before giving her a little squeeze and taking a step back.  "What are you doing in here?" he asked, not unkindly, his gaze meeting hers as he reached up to work the buttons of his shirt.

She shrugged, pushing his hands away, nimble fingers taking over his task as he reminded himself that he dared not allow her much more.  "I couldn't sleep," she said, her voice just a little husky as she kept her eyes trained on her mission.

He sighed, stepping away from her, turning his back on her, shoving his hands into his pockets as he wandered over to open his balcony doors, letting his eyes drift closed for a moment as the breeze of the summer night—balmy, sultry, punctuated by the smell of earth and trees and darker things—came to him.  "Jessa, you need to go to your own room," he said, mind rebelling against those words, even as they issued from his lips.

She ignored him for the moment, stepping around him, leaning against the frame of the opened doorway.  Pulling her hair over her shoulder, twisting it around and around in her hands, she frowned thoughtfully, eyes downcast.  "Charity said . . . Said that your parents . . . Well, she implied that they weren't .  . good . . . people . . ." she said, carefully choosing her words, carefully keeping her tone light, conversational.

"They, uh . . . They weren't," he admitted.  "I don't think they knew how to be parents.  I don't think they understood, and maybe it wasn't entirely their faults.  They were raised in another time and place, and . . . and maybe that's how it was for them, too . . ."

"You're making excuses for them?  When they treated you badly?" she challenged, her eyes raising to lock with his, the flicker of fire in her gaze completely at odds with the gentleness in her tone.  "What . . . What did they do to you, Ashur?"

He wasn't sure why he was so taken aback by her question.  It was a logical one, given what she'd been told.  Even so, that didn't make it an easy one to answer, either . . . "It was a long time ago, Jessa," he told her.  "Can we leave it at that?"

"Are you afraid of telling me, that I'll think badly of you if you answer me? Because that would be stupid . . . Or are you scared of the answers yourself . . .?"

He sighed.  "Most of the time, it was just . . . nothing," he said, unsure just why he was even bothering to try to explain it—to explain something that he didn't understand himself.  "No reason, no guidance, no subtle maneuvering to teach me anything . . . Otou-san only deigned to notice when I stepped out of bounds, when I erred in my judgment, and he wasn't above using brute force to guide me back to his way of thinking . . ."

"He . . . He beat you?" she asked, the crimson in her eyes igniting.  "That's barbaric!"

He shook his head.  "It wasn't that," he clarified.  "I mean, he was never out of control.  Just . . ." He grimaced.  "It wasn't, not really."

"Would you ever do that to Kells?" she challenged.

"Of course not," he growled.  Then he sighed.  "No," he said, squelching the bitterness that still lived somewhere deep inside him.  "No, but I swore that Kells would have a different kind of childhood," he admitted.  "A better one than I had . . ."

The outrage in her gaze slowly shifted as she pushed herself away from the doorframe, when she slipped her hand up to his cheek, her fingers infinitely gentle was she tenderly ran the pad of her thumb over his cheekbone.  "They broke you, didn't they?  Broke your spirit . . ."

He grasped her wrist in her hand, but didn't have the strength to push her away, could only stare deep into her eyes as he slowly shook his head.  To his horror, he could only watch, his voice stilled as though by a power stronger than his own, as a single tear slipped down her cheek.

Heaving a sigh, he forced his gaze away from hers, breaking the hold with which she held him.  Turning away from her, he moved away, struggled to lock the door in his head that she'd inadvertently thrown wide open.  "It was a long time ago, Jessa," he heard himself saying.  "Just . . . Just go on back to your room.  I . . . I want . . . No, I . . . I _need_ to be alone . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Enjoy your weekend_!
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** — — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** WhisperingWolf ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _He sent me to my room_ …?!


	39. Arrangements

Ashur strode out of the bathroom and straight to the closet, unable to shake the thundering black clouds that had broken over him about the second he'd opened his eyes after the scant hour of sleep he'd finally managed to get after sending Jessa back to her room and spending the rest of the night, feeling guilty and unsettled after so much talk about his parents.

She'd opened up the floodgates on the tiny room in his head where he'd banished all those memories, hadn't she?  With her questions, even her outrage on his behalf . . . The few isolated instances that had managed to creep out of that room from time to time had been bad enough, and now?

He sighed, yanking on a pair of jeans—the first thing he'd laid hands on, and honestly, he didn't much care, anyway.

Those God forsaken memories had waylaid him, one right after another, though with no real reason or rhyme . . . Over and over again, just different moments, some of which he had no idea were trapped inside him.  Hours of instances that were better left forgotten, and the worst one of them all—the one he tried so hard to repress because, really, just what good could come of it?  The one insular memory that had the power to break him . . .

" _What_ _have you told them?_ "

 _Standing in the middle of the platform in the tiny cell below the house proper, Ashur stared straight ahead in stony silence, ignoring the pain, the burn, in his shoulders, in his back, from the hours of being confined, wrists bound by a thick iron chain over his head.  Threaded through the beams high above, affixed to a thick rope that extended down, only to be fastened tight around a lower iron bar, it held him fast, and he, fool that he was, had allowed Hidekea's trusted manservant, Tanaka to truss him up.  At the time, he'd thought that if he went along with it, that Hidekea would have his moment, but would ultimately let him go after he felt that Ashur was well and truly chastised_ . . .

 _He was wrong—horribly wrong.  As Hidekea paced the floor, Ashur didn't have to look at him to feel the rage rife in his youki. It was thick, cloying, festering, and dark.  Yukina swept into the room, her layers of clothing, rustling against the metal floor.  She handed Hidekea something.  Ashur didn't see what it was, and a part of him didn't really care, either_.

 _She glided across the floor, her feet making no sound, arms folded together, hidden in the copious sleeves of the layers of her kimonos.  Drawing herself proudly, she stood before him, her blue eyes, cold, flat, yet as she gazed upon him, he saw it: the bitterness, the scorn—the animosity and contempt that she held for him.  Face snapping to the side when she slapped him as hard as she could, he slowly straightened his head, ignoring the blood that pooled in his mouth, closing his eyes just in time to avoid the mouthful of spit she heaved at him.  "You bastard child!" she hissed.  "How dare you betray your kin!_ "

"I _betrayed_ you?" _he said, his gaze narrowing, brows drawing together as he tried to understand, tried to comprehend, that this . . . This was his mother—a woman he'd known, almost revered, had so desperately wanted nothing more than a simple smile from her, his entire life_ . . .

" _You_ _are no son of mine, no child of my blood . . . You are nothing_ —nothing!  _And you never, ever were!"  She lunged at him, her claws digging deep into the flesh of his chest.  The pain exploded in a white-hot burn, ricocheted to his brain as he bit it back, ignoring the sickening gush of blood that dripped from him, trailing down the hollows of his abdomen, soaking into the haori, the undershirt that hung from his waist_ . . .

" _Yukina," Hidekea barked tersely.  "That is enough_."

 _She didn't look like she agreed, glowering at Ashur for a painfully long minute before turning on her heel with a flourish, gliding out of the chamber as quietly as she had come, and the silence that fell was thick, rancid, interrupted only by the sound of his own breathing, and the harder he fought to will away the pain, to ignore the harsh throbbing of his rent flesh, the more ragged, the harsher it grew, punctuated only by the plop, plop of the blood mixed with his own saliva that dripped from his lip_.

" _Disappointing," Hidekea said, his footfalls scraping against the metal.  "My . . ._ son _. . . taking the side of that haughty bastard, allying himself against his own family . . .?  No better than that fool of a brother of yours.  Do you do it on purpose, Kyouhei?  Was the draw so significant to follow in_ his _footsteps that you would forsake your own family?  Did he brainwash you into doing his bidding?_ "

" _Ben?" Ashur blurted, unable to repress the incredulity in his tone_.

 _The mere mention of that name, however, was enough to crack the legendary calm as Hidekea shot forward—two long strides to close the distance—grasping Ashur's low-hanging ponytail, viciously yanking, snapping Ashur's head back, only to glower into his eyes.  "Say that name in my presence ever again, and I will gut you from neck to navel, and I will watch as your entrails drag the floor, as you stumble over them in your vain attempt to save yourself.  I will exult as I watch the breath leave  your body, the light fade from your eyes, and you will grovel—you will curse the day you were born, as we do every single day," he growled  "And then, I will gather your remains and ship them off to your_ precious _brother so that he can see what he caused—so that he can live with the guilt and the shame for the rest of his miserable life."  Then he let go, giving Ashur a hard shove, his head snapping forward before he could catch himself_.

 _The first lash came a heartbeat later, drawing him up straight as he arched his back away from the burn, the fire, the mind-numbing agony.  Far worse pain than anything that he'd ever felt before . . . By the third lash, he prayed for oblivion, except that when it finally came to him, Hidekea's rage wasn't satiated, and he brought him around again by ordering Tanaka to rub salts into his back as his father used the blunt handle of the cat-o-nine-tails to beat his torso, his face . . . More lashes—too many to count, more salt, more beatings . . . And Ashur had no conception of time or space, lost the ability to speak, much less to think, and the only retreat he'd had against anything was to pull himself in, to will his mind away from the consuming pain, wishing that he'd die a thousand times—a million times—but death did not come . ._.

Smashing his hands over his face, he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, forcing that memory back again, back into that tiny corner of his mind to lock it away before it managed to thoroughly destroy him.  It wasn't really surprising, when he thought back to those days . . . He'd been on precarious ground already, and then the altercation between Yukina and Hana . . . It was the final straw, wasn't it?  And, in the end, he'd retreated into his own head, just as he had during those hours, stuck in the basement, only this time, he wasn't able to break out himself—trapped in an endless loop, and whether his mind was trying to repair itself—that's what Charity had believed—or not, the only thing that had saved him was the insular sobbing of an infant—Kells . . .

He didn't want those memories.  Jessa had been trying to reach him, hadn't she?  And yet, the end result was so much worse . . .

Stomping out of the closet and out of the bedroom into the hallway, Ashur willed those things away.  Funny how much easier it was to do that in the bright light of day . . .

Down the hall and down the stairs, he thumped into the bright kitchen, only to stop short at the sight of his brother and Charity, sitting that the table with the twins and a yapping Kells while Eddie hurried around, making breakfast, but it was what Ben wasn't wearing that drew a heavy sigh from Ashur as he slowly shook his head.

"Morning, Ash," Ben remarked without looking up from the newspaper, flipping his empty coffee mug to the side as Eddie hurried around the counter to fill a cup for Ashur and do a round of refills.

"Where are your pants, Ben?" Ashur demanded, ignoring Ben's pleasantries as he reached for the steaming coffee mug and slapped it back, ignoring the scorching burn.  Eddie arched an eyebrow at him but refilled his mug without a word before slipping the carafe onto the table and marching back over to work on the pancakes.

"I took a shower," Ben replied, as though it explained everything.

Ashur snorted.  "I have absolutely no desire to see your junk first thing in the morning," he pointed out.

"Daddy!  Do I gots junk, too?" Kells demanded, rising up on his chair, hands planted on the table as he hopped up and down.

Ashur heaved a sigh as he leveled a glower at his brother, catching Kells around the waist and sitting him back down again.

Charity cleared her throat meaningfully before Ashur could respond, telegraphing Ben a narrow-eyed look before glancing from Nadia to Emmeline and back to Ben once more.

Ben, true to form, chuckled.  "Oh, you've got junk, all right, Kells," Ben remarked.

Charity heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes, slowly shaking her head in defeat.  "You know, Ben, you should think about putting on some pants before Jessa—"

"Good morning, Ashur.  It's a fine day outside, and—uh . . ."

Ashur glanced up in time to see Jessa, with Devlin in tow, as the two of them stepped into the kitchen.  Devlin was the one who had spoken, and when he spotted Ben and his deplorable lack of clothing, he quickly stopped, reaching around Jessa, only to slap his hands over her eyes.

"What are you doing?" Jessa demanded, tugging on Devlin's hands, to no avail.

"Pardon me for saying so.  I mean, I realize that it's your house, Ash, but isn't that entirely inappropriate?" he asked, nodding at Ben.

Eddie snorted loudly.  "Been telling the old jackass that for years," she muttered.

Charity sighed and dropped her forehead into her hand.  Nadia and Emmeline just looked on, wide-eyed while Kells giggled and stood up on his chair again.

"It's not like I'm nude," Ben pointed out dryly.

"Might as well be," Ashur grumbled, swatting Kells' backside to remind him that it needed to be flat on the chair.  The boy made a face but dropped onto the chair once more.

"If you all didn't bring attention to it, no one would even notice," Ben maintained.

"That's one of the dumbest things you've ever said," Ashur growled.  "Did you bump your head this morning?"

Ben grinned at him.

"Do you always eat breakfast in a towel?" Jessa asked, finally managing to shake off Devlin's hands.

"He does," Ashur replied darkly. "He's kind of an ass that way.  Can't you at least buy a robe or something?"

Ben shrugged offhandedly.  "I have one."

"Did you bring it with you?"

"They're too hot," Ben replied.

Jessa shook her head and grabbed a blueberry muffin out of the basket on the counter.  "Come on, Dev," she said, turning on her heel to stride out of the kitchen once more.  "This is all just a little too weird for me . . . We're going riding."

"I wanna ride!" Kells hollered.

"Then you'd better hurry and eat," Jessa called over her shoulder.

"Be careful," Ashur called after her.

She ignored him and kept moving.

Devlin stared at them for another minute before shaking his head and following Jessa out of the room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa leaned against the fence beside Carol as the two watched Laith and Devlin, who were instructing Kells, Nadia, and Emmeline in the basics of riding.  Kells was a little farther along since Jessa had already been working with him, but the girls were catching on quickly.  Unfortunately, though, they only had one pony, and the other horses were too large for the girls' first attempts at riding.  Laith, holding onto Nadia, was atop Buttercup, one of the horses that Ashur had purchased the same day he'd bought Humpty Dumpty, Kells' Shetland pony, while Devlin had Emmeline situated with him astride Fletch, and the men were allowing the girls to hold onto the reins.  Kells was showing off, cantering around them both, but he was careful not to venture too near the larger horses.

"Those girls are absolute dolls," Carol remarked as she watched the children.  "They almost make me want to have kids some day . . ."

"You don't want them?" Jessa asked.

Carol shrugged.  "I like kids, sure," she said, "but I tend to like them more when I can play with them awhile and send them back home."

"I did not know that," Jessa mused.  "You _really_ don't want children . . .?"

"I'm not going to say I'll never have them because who know?  Maybe I'll change my mind, but honestly, I don't think I will."  She thought it over and made a face.  "I mean, I want to do things, you know?  Travel and see things . . . Go places . . . It's harder to do all that with kids, and then, when they finally grow up and move out on their own, you're in the middle of menopause, and going off to do your own thing may not sound like nearly as much fun as it did before . . . Does that sound selfish?"

Jessa shook her head.  "No.  I mean, people should have children because they want them, not because they think that they have to . . ."

"What about you?"

"Me?"

Carol nodded.  "I can see you with a houseful of kids, and then I can be the gorgeous and mysterious Auntie Carol who shows up with bags of goodies for them from my latest adventures . . ."

Jessa laughed.  "I don't know about a houseful," she remarked.  "What if your mate wants babies?"

Carol giggled.  "Mate?  You Irish are a funny people," she teased.  "But I would assume that my _mate_ would be all right with it, too.  I mean, if he loves me and wants to be with me, then he'll understand.  It's not like it'd be a secret or anything.  If a guy thinks that having children is a deal-breaker, then I'd rather know that from the start so I don't waste his or my time."

Jessa nodded.  "Well, if you never have children, then I can understand.  They're a lot of work, and I'm just a nanny . . ."

"Is that . . . safe . . .?" Charity asked as she stepped up on Jessa's other side.

"Yes, of course . . . They won't let anything happen to the girls, and those horses are quite well trained, so it's very safe," Jessa assured her.

Charity waved a hand. "I wasn't as concerned about them," she admitted.  "I meant Kells . . ."

Jessa sighed since she could understand Charity's concern.  Kells tended to be just a little too hyper most of the time.  When it came to the pony, however, he was showing remarkable restraint since she'd explained to him that horses tended to do better with calm people, especially if the horse was given to being skittish.  Humpty Dumpty, however, was quite possibly the most laid back animal she'd ever seen, and that was definitely a plus.

Carol laughed, chatting with Charity while Jessa was content to simply watch the children.  They seemed to be having the time of their lives, and that was well worth the effort.

Ben wandered over—fully dressed, thankfully—slipping an arm around his mate.  "The girls are going to pester them all day long," he predicted, a vague little smile quirking his lips.  Then he chuckled.  "Poor bastards."

"What are the odds that they're not going to start asking for ponies?" Charity remarked.

Ben sighed.  "Except we don't know the first thing about caring for horses," he told her.

"You can always find a reputable stable where you can house your horses or you could hire someone to take care of them," Jessa said.

Ben shot her a raised-eyebrow-ed look, but smiled.  "You're really not helping, you realize."

She shrugged.  "Shouldn't all little girls have their own ponies?"

"She has a point, Ben," Charity concluded.  "I'll bet my papa would have gotten me a pony if I'd wanted one . . ."

"That was entirely unfair," Ben pointed out, tightening his grip on Charity and leaning in to kiss her cheek.

She laughed and kissed him back.

Somehow, watching the two of them, so happy, so free . . .

Jessa frowned as she focused her attention on Kells once more.

Watching Ben and Charity: their closeness, their bond . . . It hurt . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Letting out a deep breath as she wandered around the room, Jessa couldn't stand the restlessness.

The house was quiet—so quiet.  Everyone had gone to bed awhile ago.  Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, she grimaced.  Almost one in the morning . . .

She'd tried to sleep.  She'd made her excuses, not long after putting Kells to bed.  He was so exhausted from playing all day that he hadn't lasted more than a page into the book he chose, and she'd sat there with him, stroking his hair, breathing in the smell of him, and for those precious minutes, everything felt all right.  Kind of . . .

' _Except you keep pretending, Jessa. More and more often of late, you do it—pretend that he's your child—so much so that it bothers you when he doesn't call you, 'Ma' . . ._ '

Frowning in the darkness, she shook her head, lifted her hand to touch the cool glass window pane.  ' _I don't . . . That's . . . That's stupid . . ._ '

' _Except you do, just like when he fell off that pony today, and he cried, and you ran to him.  You scooped him up, you held him close, and a part of you loved how he hugged you, how he clung to you._ '

Wincing at the deadly accuracy of her youkai-voice's words, she pressed her lips in a tight line, hating the part of her that knew the truth.  It was wrong, and it was horrible, and yes, if she were truly honest with herself, she would have to admit that a part of her did revel in those moments when that child needed comforting, and he had turned away from everyone else who had tried to take him away from her, Ashur included . . .

She'd held him close, and she'd dried his tears, and she'd told him that it was okay to fall.  She'd kissed his cheek, ruffled his hair, and she'd gotten him back into the saddle, too . . . And he'd smiled at her through the tears that still stood in his eyes, asked her to watch him while he cantered around the paddock . . . She'd restored his will to try again, and she'd loved that, too . . .

It was the highlight of her otherwise rather bleak day, actually.  Ashur had barely spoken more than a handful of words to her the entire day, had taken care not to be left anywhere alone with her.  Even during dinner, he'd pretty well ignored her, and if that wasn't telling enough, then there was still last night, when he'd sent her away, his message crystal clear; there were others in the house—others that he didn't want to know anything, but it was the question of why that bothered her most.

' _Don't jump to conclusions . . . You know that he's just a very private man.  Maybe that's all there really is to it . . ._ '

She might well believe that if she didn't also remember his objections to her age, or lack thereof . . .

" _You're . . . You're barely a woman, and I'm a grown man.  What happened that night . . . It shouldn't have, and you should realize that, too . . . I don't want to be your lifetime regret_ . . ."

Those words echoed in her brain, only now, she understood them just a little bit more.  It was his game, wasn't it?  His game, his rules, and she'd been naïve enough to fall for it . . .

The stagnant air of the bedroom choked her, stung her.  Fingers fumbling as she released the lock on the French doors, she threw them open, stumbled outside, lifted her gaze to the sky where the moon should have been.  It wasn't. The sky was as empty and void as she was.  The stars weren't shining as brightly, the air was silent and lonely.  Everything about it felt like nothing, and for a moment, Jessa wished that she could feel that way, too . . .

Closing her eyes, leaning on the railing, she breathed deep, willing the night air to offer her a semblance of calm, of solace, of the comfort she'd found in Ashur, only to have it ripped away from her.  That was the part that tore her open, left her bleeding, left her raw.  Somehow, she'd come to rely upon him, even after she'd sworn to herself that it would never happen—that she didn't need anyone—didn't want anyone . . .

A soft rustle, a quiet thud . . . For a moment, she thought maybe . . . But that couldn't be, could it?  Ashur . . . He wouldn't . . .

"Jessa . . ."

Eyes flashing open, she whipped to the side, and she started to step forward, starting to bring up her hands to touch him, but she stepped back instead, retreating as she forced her arms down, crossing them over her chest, turning her face away, because if she looked at him . . . If she looked at him . . .

"Come on," he said, taking the step toward her that she hadn't been able to take.

She shook her head, scrunched up her shoulders, as though the action would be enough to keep him at bay.

He sighed, reached out, pulled her into his arms without any real struggle.  Then he scooped her up, cradled her against his chest, vaulted the railing, landing on the grass below as he set off at a sprint.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, huddling a little closer against him despite her stubborn resolve not to slip her arms around his neck.

"I can't stand not being near you," he admitted, and when she peered up into his face, it was to find him staring down at her, his gaze lit with an inner fierceness, a quiet sense of defiance.

His answer confused her, even as she felt her heart lurch in her chest, slamming hard against her ribcage in a pattern of butterfly flutters in the dark as the thoughts that had plagued her mere minutes before completely faded from her mind . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
>  _** xSerenityx020 ——— Usagiseren05
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
>  _** Amanda Gauger ——— minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
>  _** lianned88 ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _Would it be rude to tell Ben to get the hell out_ …?


	40. Surprises

". . . It's a . . . car . . ."

Ashur nodded,  handing her the keys.  "For you."

"You . . . _bought_ . . . me a car . . .?"

He shrugged.  "There are times when you need one to take Kells places," he replied.  "You don't want to be cooped up out here all the time, either, do you?"

His reasons were logical, even if they sounded a little rehearsed to Jessa.  For some reason, though, the sight of the cute little candy-apple-red Terra Beinfore SUV, complete with sun roof, top of the line safety features, and fully capable 4-wheel drive that would be perfect for Canadian winters—probably better than Ashur's hopelessly expensive and equally boring Vestron Illusion, which was built for luxury but wasn't exactly known for its ability to plow through a Canadian blizzard, either.

"I don't want you to buy me things," she said, turning on her heel and shoving the key against his chest as she struggled to keep her tone even.

He looked down rather pointedly at her hand and pushed it back. "Don't worry about it, Jessa," he told her.  "You're Kells' nanny, after all."

For some reason, that statement only served to irritate her just a little bit more, and this time, she shoved the keys and him and dropped them.  He caught them, barely.  "Oh, is that so?"

He would have had to be stupid to miss her rising anger.  He glanced around, probably to make sure that there was no one else within earshot.  "It's not a big deal," he told her, lowering his voice just a little.  "If it bothers you that much, just . . . pay me back when your estate is settled, but you don't have to."  He took her hand, dropped the keys into it, then let go just as quickly and turned away, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he headed for the front door.  "Take it out for a test drive.  You'll change your mind about it."

She watched him go, her frown darkening with every step he took, and she had to tamp down the anger that she couldn't quite shake.  With a muffled growl of frustration, she opened the driver side door, tossed the keys into it, and slammed it closed again before striding off in the opposite direction, trying to put as much space between herself and that man as she possibly could.

It was unbelievable, wasn't it?  And it wouldn't have been so bad if it were the first time this had happened.  Granted, the car was a new twist, but . . .

She drew a few deep breaths meant to calm her down.  It didn't work as she kicked a rock as hard as she could and kept striding forward, heading for the path that she'd created when she'd first gotten Stardust but had managed to wear down to a proper trail in the last two weeks since Ben and Charity's arrival.

It was simply intolerable, wasn't it?  All but ignoring the fact that she lived and breathed if there was even the most remote chance that someone might walk in that someone might see him, standing just a little too close to her, talking to her, even breathing the same air as she was . . . Day after day, it was always the same, and she'd go to her room, feeling sad and lonely.  Most nights, she'd end up, falling into a fitful sleep, if she slept at all.  Every few days, though, he would come, always waiting until everyone was asleep, always taking her somewhere else—usually, to the pond—where he'd keep her awake until the sun rose, making love to her, holding her close, reassuring her that it was just for awhile, just until Ben and Charity went home, and every time they went back, as she sneaked into her own room as the sun broke over the distant horizon, she wondered why.  Why didn't he want them to know?  Why did it seem like he wasn't at all interested in telling his own brother?  There was never any kind of reasoning with it, no, 'I just wanted to tell him about us first,' or anything even remotely close to that.  No, it was just the idea that he didn't want anyone to know . . .

It somehow turned something that Jessa had thought was beautiful into something that felt cheap and ugly and shameful, and then . . .

The first morning after he'd come to her, just after he'd sent her from his room, they'd walked back in the morning dew, hand in hand, and she'd thought that maybe everything would be all right, that her feelings before had to just have been overreaction on her part.  But then, he'd pretty well ignored her through breakfast, hadn't said a thing to her all day, either.  When she'd gone to bed that night, though, it was to find a box on her pillow—a beautiful pair of diamond stud earrings—each one easily a couple carats . . .

But he hadn't come to her that night or the night after that, either.  And that was how it had been since.  She could pretty well bank on finding something on her pillow the night after he coaxed her into going with him—always somewhere far enough away from the house that there was no danger of anyone discovering their dirty little secret, she supposed.  The last time, it was a five hundred dollar gift card for a store she'd mentioned liking once upon a time, and if that wasn't a blatant expression of exactly what their stolen moments meant to him, then she really didn't know what was . . .

She'd sworn to herself last night that she wouldn't go with him if he came to her.  That resolution had lasted about thirty seconds, even as she hated herself for her weakness—even if she wondered just how long it would take before she started to hate him, as well . . .

And now, the car.

' _Maybe he just likes to buy things for you, Jessa.  Ever stop to think about that?_ '

' _There's a name for what he's doing—for what_ I'm _doing . . . and it isn't very nice.  In fact, women who do things like . . . like me?  They're usually dragged through the figurative mud or . . . or made to wear giant, red, 'A's on their clothes . . ._ '

' _You can't really believe that.  I don't think—_ '

' _If you're going to stand up for him, then just keep it to yourself.  I don't need you to make excuses for him . . . I . . . I'm done with him!  I . . ._ '

' _And you've been saying you're done with him for a week now, yet every time he turns up, you're following him wherever he wants you to go and doing whatever it is that he wants you to do—not that I'm complaining.  That man has very formidable talents . . ._ '

Letting out a deep breath, Jessa plopped down on a broken log, leaning her elbows on her knees, dropping her face into her cupped hands with a low groan.  ' _I just . . . I don't know how much more of this I can take . . ._ '

And that was the crux of her problem, really.  If she had any idea just where she stood, maybe  she'd be able to find the courage to confront him, to tell him how bad she felt—how bad he made her feel . . . As it was, she was merely settling for whatever he could give her because it was better than nothing, wasn't it?

The sound of laughing children drifted to her, and Jessa drew a deep breath, managed to steel herself before Charity and the girls rounded the curve in the path.  "Oh, Jessa!  I didn't know you were out here!" she greeted as the girls darted over, gathering wildflowers that grew thick in the grass along the trail.

Charity sat down beside her, burying her nose in the very large bouquet in her hands.  "This property is absolutely fantastic," she said, gazing around in a very happy way.  "The diversity of native flora here is just incredible!  I told Ben we should rent a cabin up this way.  I'd love to spend some time, just documenting all of it . . ."

"The . . . plants . . .?" Jessa asked, shaking her head in confusion.

Charity laughed.  "I'm a botanist," she said.  "I guess I forgot to mention that, and yes, I do tend to get a little goofy when it comes to things like this . . ."

Jessa frowned.  "How . . .? How much longer are you staying?  I mean, I don't think Ashur really said . . ."

"Oh, thank you," Charity replied, accepting a couple more fistfuls of flowers before the girls took off again in a chorus of giggles and tiny shrieks of laughter.  "Not too much longer," she said.  "Just until Ashur's birthday."

"Ashur's . . . birthday?"

"Hmm, yeah.  It's the twenty-seventh . . . Oh, he probably didn't tell you, did he?"  She suddenly waved a hand.  "Don't worry, he doesn't usually say anything about it to anyone.  The only reason I know is because I saw his birth certificate when that was issued.  Ben said that his parents never made a big deal out of birthdays when he was growing up, so that's probably why Ashur doesn't, either.  But birthdays were always a big thing in my family, so I've kind of always taken it upon myself to make sure that they do now, too . . . I mean, they both make a big deal out of the children's birthdays, but theirs?  They'd just let them pass like any other day, if I didn't make a fuss over it."

Jessa thought that over.  It made sense, though.  Given the little bit she knew about Ashur's childhood, she supposed she could understand why he wouldn't make a fuss over his own birthday.  Even so, she had to admit that it did bother her just a little, especially when he'd gone to such lengths to celebrate hers . . .

She sighed.  Maybe she was just being a little too sensitive about everything—or at least, about his birthday.  He really had tried to make hers special, and he really didn't have to.  She supposed she ought to try to do something for him, too, shouldn't she . . .?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"This would have been so much easier if you'd have just come with me," Jessa muttered as she wandered through Lohman Stanton, a high-end, if not rather boring, men's clothing store in the heart of Old Quebec.

Devlin chuckled.  "I told you, Mum needed my help for a bit.  She decided that she needed to build a table out of reclaimed wood because she said it looked simple enough.  It wasn't.  It's a wreck.  It's terrible.  She thinks it's grand.  I really should forbid her from watching HGTV . . ."

Laughing despite herself, Jessa slowly shook her head as she looked around.  "You know, nothing in here looks like anything he'd wear . . ."

"Lohman Stanton?"  He snorted.  "That's because it's all hopelessly boring, old man clothes, and, while your Ashur might well be old in human terms, he's really not that old in youkai terms . . . So, is there a slightly trendier place near?  Ugh . . . I can't believe I actually said the word, 'trendy' . . ."

She sighed.  "This is hopeless . . . I have no idea what he likes, no idea what his hobbies are—if he even has any, and I've been living with him for months, you know . . . I have never met anyone before in my life who has no hobbies, does nothing for fun, basically lives and breathes for his work—well, and for Kells . . ."

Devlin considered that for a moment.  "Work, huh?  Well, what about a stationery or office store?  Surely you could find something for him in one of those?  You could buy him something for his office . . . What about a planner or a datebook or something?  I know, they're terribly old fashioned, but . . . He's a little old-fashioned, too, don't you think?"

She made a face as she pushed out of the store and headed for her car—the Terra Beinfore.  She'd volunteered to take Kells to preschool since her original plan had been to take the boy with her as she shopped for Ashur's birthday present, but Charity had told her last night that Kells had already bought a present for his father while they were on vacation.

It just figured.  She'd even asked Kells on the way to preschool if he knew of anything that Ashur might like.  Kells' answer, of course, was that his father would love to have the Mega Power Puppies Playhouse, so that was completely useless . . .

Keying the search into the SUV's onboard computer, she clicked on the one that was listed as 'closest'.  "There's a place called Masterson's Fine Things, specializing in personalized stationery and other special gifts that are perfect for the home or the office—at least, that's what the blurb says."

"Hmm, I've not heard of them," he said.  "You could check it out."

"I suppose," she allowed.  "I haven't anything better in mind."

"Okay, well, give me a call back if you need further assistance," he said.  "As for me, I think I need to talk to Mum.  She just came through with a power sander, so that cannot _possibly_ be good . . ."

She laughed and started the car.  "Good luck with that," she said.

"I'm probably going to need it," he muttered.  "Bye."

The phone call ended, and Jessa sighed again.  At least this place was close, and it only took about five minutes to get there.  The store was situated on the second floor of one of the older buildings in the area: stately and understated, but very reminiscent of Europe, of the cobbled streets and the quaint little shops that could be found in the little nooks and crannies, in the backstreets where the more modern gloss hadn't yet been applied . . .

Slipping inside to the quant toll of the bells over the door, she smiled slightly as a spicy yet warm scent filled her nose, reminding her of one of the little tea shops near the boarding school campus where she'd spent her teenage years . . .

"Welcome!  I'm Georgina Moss.  Can I help you?"

Glancing up at the very friendly looking middle-aged woman who straightened up from her task of arranging a shelf display, Jessa smiled.  "I'm looking for a birthday present," she said.  "I'd just like to look around."

The woman's smile widened.  "Sure, of course!  We carry a very large selection of excellent quality gift ideas!  Let me know if I can be of assistance!"

Jessa nodded as the woman returned to her task.

It really was an interesting shop.  Stationery, sure, and lots of it made out of homemade paper with beautiful texture and the kind of feel that only came from the workmanship that went into crafting it . . .

Desk plaques of every style and design, which were all very pretty, but somehow felt entirely impersonal . . . Gorgeous crystal inkwells, some with gold accents, some with marble . . . Beautifully bottled inks and fountain pens . . .

Over toward the side of the store near the front desk, there were bottles of fine liquors, packages of stunning crystal decanters, snifters, goblets, tumblers . . . Given that he had quite an affinity for the drink and usually had at least one glass every evening, she figured that would be something that he'd appreciate.

"We only specialize in the top of the line liquors here—nothing you could  find at any old liquor store, but then, a lot of our customers come in just for the cognacs and armagnacs we carry.

"He . . . He likes it," Jessa admitted.  "Tell me, what do you recommend?"

"Is there a particular brand the gentleman prefers?" Georgina asked.

Jessa winced since she couldn’t rightfully say.   "He usually decants it," she said.  "I haven't seen any actual bottles."

Georgina nodded, as though something she'd said made perfect sense.  "Well, if he's a connoisseur, then I'd imagine he'd like something a little more high end . . . We currently have a really lovely Francis Darroze Bas-Armagnac Chateau de Lasserrade, vintage 2001, and it's pricey, but definitely worth the money.  Would you care to try a sample?  That is, assuming you're eighteen . . ."

"Sure," Jessa replied, digging her driver's license out of her purse and handing it over for Georgina's inspection..

Georgina handed it back and stepped behind the short counter and poured just a little into a fine crystal snifter.  "It really is a beautiful vintage."

It smelled a little different from the one cognac that Ashur normally drank—a little fruitier, a little more floral and less earthy.  The liquor was still strong, but not quite as harsh on her tongue and throat.  Beautiful, really.  She only hoped that Ashur would agree . . .

"What do you think?" Georgina asked.

Jessa nodded.  "I like that," she said.  "It's a bit different from what he normally drinks, but I think he'll appreicate it . . ."

"Does he normally drink cognac?"

"Yes," she replied.  "How much is this?"

"Well, this one is a little shy of fifteen hundred dollars."

Jessa smiled.  "Okay.  I'll take one bottle.  He has snifters, but maybe I should get him a special one?"

Georgina nodded, setting an unopened box on the counter before hurrying around to help her with the selection of crystal.  "Does he have the tulip or balloon?"

"The ones he uses everyday are the tulip snifters."

"Not surprising.  Most aficionados prefer them to the balloon type . . . However, I do have some wobble glasses, and they're very nice.  Many think that the design of the glass actually helps to concentrate the bouquet of the cognac.  Here. . ." she said, handing Jessa a glass that looked like the balloon snifter but without the wide base and stem.  It rested on the side with a small bump on the bottom to balance it.  "Everyone has their own preferences, but I have a few regulars who swear by these."

"I like this," she said, enjoying the weight of the crystal orb glass.

"These come in boxes of two.  Is that all right?"

"That's fine," she agreed.  "Would it be all right if I looked around a bit more?"

Georgina smiled.  "Go on, dear . . . I'll take these over to the register!  If I can help you with anything else, let me know!"

Jessa nodded and wandered over to the stationery once more.  In a glass display case, there were a number of hand-tooled leather binders: some plain, some edged with beautiful details.  There was one, a plain leather—slate gray with such beautiful graining in the leather that it really didn't need embellishment anyway.  It came with your choice of insert pages: address pages, calendar pages, even blank or lined pages, all of the home made stock that she'd admired before.  Along with the binders, though, were an array of pens, and, curiously, it was a slate gray fountain pen with a white gold nib.  Streamlined and sleek, it was the old fashioned kind that did not use a cartridge.

"I'd like to see one of the binders and a pen, if that's all right," Jessa said as Georgina hurried over, rattling keys on the coiled keychain that hung from her wrist.  "The gray one, please, and that fountain pen just there . . ."

Georgina unlocked the display and pulled up the binder.  "This one's lovely," she said.  "The man who makes these said that he only had this one, too.  Calfskin . . . Said that he was so impressed with the leather that he hated to tool it . . ."

"It's gorgeous," she said, lightly running her fingers over it as the bell over the door announced another arrival to the small shop.

"This pen's not the most expensive one we carry, but the Pilots tend to have a more brush-like feel in the hand than many of the more expensive ones.  There's a bit more elegance to them."

"I'll take these, as well," she said.

"What kind of inserts would you like with the binder?"

"Address, calendar—do you have weekly?"

"We certainly do!"

Jessa nodded.  "And some lined blank pages?"

"That's just fine!  I'll get this ready, and in the mean time, why won't you go pick out a bottle of ink?  I'll throw it in, free of charge."

"Thank you," she replied, turning to head back to find the inks.  The store was such a quaint place, so reminiscent of the European shops that it was entirely too easy to forget that she was halfway around the word, and, just for a moment, the ambience, the feel, was enough to take her back to another place and time . . .

"H . . . Hello . . . You are . . . Kyouhei-sama's friend, uh, yes?"

Drawing up abruptly, Jessa blinked, stared into the face of the woman—the one from the restaurant just before Charity and Ben's arrival . . . She seemed nervous despite the refinement of her outward appearance, and her English was broken and just a little awkward.  Still, she smiled tentatively and offered Jessa a quick bow.

Hana . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** sutlesarcasm ——— smpnst
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda Gauger ——— minthegreen ——— ShiroNeko316
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _What's she doing here_ …?
> 
>  


	41. Answers

The café was small, quaint, tucked just off the main thoroughfare that traversed Old Quebec.  It was busy, but not as busy as it might have been if it had been more exposed to the heavy foot traffic of the sightseers and visitors to the historic district.  The two had walked here from the stationery store just around the corner when Hana asked if she could spare a moment after picking up an order that she'd come in for, to start with.  Jessa had paid for her things and put them in her car before hesitantly agreeing to have tea with the woman.  Settling in at a table in a quiet corner of the honey wood and shining glass establishment, Jessa made herself order a cup of tea from the waitress that smiled and hovered near to take their orders.

Hana echoed Jessa's order, and the waitress hurried away.

"I thank you for meeting me," Hana said, shaking her head, as though she wasn't exactly sure, just where she ought to start.

"Are you in Canada alone?"

Her question seemed to confuse Hana, who pondered the question carefully.  "Yes, I am . . . alone . . ." she replied.  "Watakana-san is in . . . meeting."

Waving a hand, Jessa licked her lips.  "No, I meant . . . Are you, um . . . visiting Canada alone?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, dark eyes flaring wide.  "Oh, I am with Watakana-san.  He has business with men . . . I fetch gift from store for man's wife . . ."

"I see," Jessa said.  The woman was obviously having trouble with English, and that only served to heighten her curiosity as to what, exactly, Hana would want to talk to her about, in the first place . . .  "So, you're just visiting?"

"I did not know he is here," she replied sadly.  "I try speak to him.  He cannot."

"And, what?  You want me to ask him to talk to you?"

"You are . . . You are close?  With Kyouhei-sama?" Hana asked quietly, her eyebrows drawing together in a thoughtful frown.

"Kyouhei-sama?" she repeated, shaking her head in confusion.

Hana grimaced.  "Umm . . . The . . . The man?  At the restaurant . . .?"

"Oh . . . Ashur . . . I'm  . . . I'm staying with him," Jessa admitted, unsure exactly what she really ought to say.

"Ashur," Hana repeated.  "Yes, he is . . . I know him . . . Kyouhei-sama.  I . . . I work for his family. . . long time."  She made a face.  "Can you speak Japanese?"

"Uh, no," Jessa admitted with a frown.  Ashur hadn't actually said anything about Hana having worked for his family.  All he'd said was that they were, 'friends' . . . "Kyouhei-sama?  Is that his . . . his real name?"

Hana seemed confused by her question, but she slowly nodded.  "Muira Kyouhei—umm, Kyouhei Muira.  He owned, um . . . boat place? Muira International . . ."

"Muira International . . ." Jessa repeated.  She'd heard of that company, hadn't she?  Maybe her father had done some sort of business with them at one point or another.  Even so . . .

Hana sighed, nodding at the waitress as she quietly delivered the tea and slipped away again.  "Kyouhei-sama . . . He is good?  He is fine?"

"Yes, I . . . I suppose," Jessa said.  "But you already asked him how he is, didn't you?"

Hana grimaced, quickly ducking her head for a moment.  "He sent me away . . . He was . . . How do you say?  He was my, uh, one love?  But he cannot . . ." Shaking her head as she lifted a hand to try to nudge her memory, she sighed.  "—Cannot . . . forget me?"

The delicate cup of tea in Jessa's hand smacked precariously down on the saucer, and she forced herself to let go of it before it ended up, shattered into a million bits and pieces.  It felt as though someone had punched her, square in the chest, as the air whooshed out of her lungs, as she felt the earth spinning out of her control.  Everything she'd thought, everything she'd suspected . . . It was true . . .?  And he . . . he was only biding his time with her, wasn't he?  Messing around with her because she was there, she was willing . . . She was convenient . . . "Your . . . one . . ."

The dark haired woman nodded adamantly, apparently pleased that she'd finally managed to make Jessa understand.  "Yes, yes, he was boy-friend."

Wincing inwardly, Jessa shook her head, wishing that she could just stand up and leave, that she could just get as far away from Hana—from it all—as she possibly could.  "I . . . I don't understand what you . . . what you want from me . . ."

Hana sighed, frowning in consternation, as though she were having trouble getting what she wanted to say across.  "You are with him?  You . . . You give him joy?"

And she really had no idea just how to respond to that.  A savage ache opened up somewhere deep inside her, and for one horrifying second, she thought that she might just cry.  Biting back the sting of tears, the thickness in her throat with a viciousness that she hadn't realized she possessed, Jessa slowly shook her head.  "I don't . . ."

" _You take what you're given, Jessa!  It's your place to accept it—don't question it—and don't ask for more . . ._ "

Those words . . . Her mother's chiding words . . .

Hana went on, though, as if she hadn't heard Jessa start to speak.  "Yukina-sama kill my mother, so I kill her, but the baby is there, and Kyouhei-sama cannot forget me, and I am sorry . . ."

Jessa wasn't entirely sure, just what Hana was trying to say.  None of it made any sense.  What was she supposed to do, to say?  She had no idea who Hana was talking about—no idea who Yukina-sama was, none of it . . . Everything she thought she'd known turned inside out in her brain, everything she'd been told, seemed like little more than band-aid cures that covered the superficial scratches while completely ignoring the festering cesspool underneath.  The worst of it all?  The nagging ache, the feeling that her heart was going to explode, the hateful sense of an entire world that had spun out of her control, had frazzled and frayed and come completely undone . . .

And worse, she had no real idea, just who Ashur really was, either . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kells hopped out of the car and took off at a dead run to put his things away and change into play clothes.  The girls were already in the paddock near the barn with Laith, taking turns, riding Humpty Dumpty around in a large circle while Laith held onto the lead.

Jessa gathered her bags and followed the boy to the front door.  "You're gonna come to the parents' night, aren't you, Jessa?" he asked as he waited for her to open the door.  He'd mentioned it last week, but she'd forgotten about it until he'd started talking about it again today.

"Oh, uh, sure.  If you want me to," she said, ruffling his hair before pushing the door wide open.  He'd been talking about it ever since she'd picked him up from preschool.  He'd even made special drawings to show off with the rest of the class for the occasion.

He bounced off, probably to go find his father to remind him of the meet and greet later on.  He disappeared down the short hallway that led to Ashur's study, and Jessa's wan smile faded as she moved off to the stairs to put the bags away in her closet since Ashur's birthday wasn't until tomorrow, anyway . . .

Even so, she really didn't know what to make of the entire situation, had no more of an idea, just what to think of the things that Hana had said than she did when she left the café hours ago.  Then she'd spent the rest of the time before picking up Kells, wandering around Old Quebec, drifting into and out of shop after shop, trying to get her mind off of the impromptu meeting without any real luck.

She sighed, closing her closet door and collapsing against it.  The parent-teacher thing started at seven, so she ought to get dinner started before trying to round up Kells to get him cleaned up before then.

Stopping in the boy's room long enough to lay out clean clothes on the bed, she hurried down the stairs and toward the kitchen.

Eddie had left a lasagna in the refrigerator, along with very detailed instructions on how to reheat it for dinner.  She was spending the last couple days with her cousin in Montreal, but not before she'd made a few days' worth of food and labeled them accordingly.

Jessa smiled vaguely as she turned the oven on and slipped the lasagna in to heat.  According to the instructions, there were also a few crusty loaves of bread in the freezer that would have to be heated during the last ten minutes or so.

That done, she ventured outside to spend a little time with Carol before it was time for her to go to work.

"Oh, hello, Jessamyn!  I take it you're not in your happy place?" Carol asked, sticking her head out of the short hallway before ducking back down it again.  "Did you spend all day looking for a present?  Tell me you found something!"

"I did," she said, following Carol down the hallway to her bedroom where she was changing clothes for work.  "I found Hana . . ."

"Hana . . . Oh, you mean the chick from the restaurant that one time?"

Jessa nodded, crossing her arms over her chest.  "Yes, that's right."

Carol grimaced, pausing as she buttoned the white dress shirt.  "You just randomly ran into her in the store?"

"Something like that," Jessa replied.  "She wanted to go get tea, so I did . . . and now, I rather wished I hadn't . . ."

Biting her lip, Carol shook her head.  "Do you want me to call in?  I can, you know . . . no big deal . . . I mean, if you need me—"

Jessa sighed and quickly flicked a hand.  "No, it's fine," she lied.  "Besides, Kells has parent-teacher night, and he asked me to come along."

"You really love that kid," she said, giving Jessa what could only be described as a commiserating smile.  "If you're sure . . . I'm off tomorrow night—just in time for Ashur's party . . . You can tell me everything then, right?"

"She said that she and Ashur . . . She said he was her . . . 'one love' . . . That he'd never forget her . . ."

Carol snorted.  "That's utter nonsense, Jessa.  If she were so damn unforgettable, why isn't she here with him?  You're the one he's buying presents for—the one he obviously is fixated on.  It's just a case of sour grapes.  Some chicks just don't know when to move on."

"It's not that," she heard herself saying, hating that she was even admitting it out loud.  Clearing her throat, she tried to inject enough bravado into her tone to cover up the hurt that seethed inside.  "It's just . . . I mean, he only gives me things after we . . . when we . . ."  She flinched.  Why did it sound so much worse when she said it out loud . . .?  "Like he's paying for . . . for it . . ."

"Oh, honey, I'm sure that's not what he's thinking . . ."

She shook her head, pulling her hair over her shoulder, twisting it around and around and around.  "I'm nothing more than a willing body," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.  "I'm convenient . . ."

"Jessa . . ." Carol sighed.  "I don't understand," she said, her voice taking on a hard edge.  "I just . . .  That's crazy, you know?  You're beautiful—gorgeous, even!  Hell, I'd sell my soul to Satan if I could look like you, and . . . Are you sure?  I mean, are you really, really sure?"

Jessa waved her hand, turned around to steady herself, blinking fast when the prickle of tears stung her eyelids.  "It's fine, Carol," she said.  "Ashur isn't worth crying over, now is he?"

Carol didn't answer that, but she did step forward and squeezed Jessa's shoulders.  "Tomorrow night, you and me.  We'll have a girls' night, and we'll put hexes on men, get drunk, act stupid . . . Sound good?"

Jessa managed a wan smile as she dropped her hair to grasp Carol's hands and gave them a squeeze.  "Sounds good to me—after Ashur's party, anyway . . ."

"Oh, yeah, there's that . . ."

Letting her hands drop away, Carol grabbed her purse and headed for the door.  "You sure you don't mind if I borrow your swag mobile?  Laith said he doesn't mind taking me, but . . ."

"It's fine," Jessa said, handing over the keys.  "Wreck it if you want to.  Ashur's paying for it, anyway . . . But if you do, don't hurt yourself."

Carol laughed as the two stepped out of her apartment and headed around the paddock.

"Come on, girls!  Time to get cleaned up for dinner!  After that, we're going to go see Kells' school!" Charity called, her voice carrying to Jessa as she veered off toward the house to check on dinner and see if it was ready.

"Later, Jess!" Carol called.

Jessa waved over her shoulder.

She'd just finished, sticking the bread in the oven to heat and putting on a some green beans that Eddie had already cleaned and prepped when Kells burst into the room, throwing his wet little arms around Jessa.  He loved to help her, and she didn't mind having him underfoot.  He let go and dragged over his tiny stool before slapping his hands on the counter.  "What can I do, Jessa?" he asked.

She tossed a clove of garlic into the food chopper and tore some chives to go in with it.  "Here," she said, slipping the plastic cover on that covered the blade.  "Do you want to chop?"

He nodded happily and started smashing his hand against the ball on the end of the plunger while Jessa emptied the stick of butter into a small bowl.  Then she emptied the garlic and chives into the butter and handed Kells a large wooden spoon.

By the time he was done mixing it all together, she'd carried the lasagna to the table and sliced the bread.  "Go tell your da that dinner's ready," she said, draining the green beans.

He hopped down and scooted his stool into the small nook again before tearing out of the kitchen to alert everyone that dinner was done.

Dinner was a quiet affair, at least, for Jessa.  She couldn't quite bring herself to look at Ashur, and if anyone noticed her silence, they didn't remark upon it.  Ben and Ashur were talking about youkai affairs that Jessa didn't really understand, and Charity was sidetracked with the girls and Kells, who was busy telling his aunt about his day at school.

Jessa excused herself and started cleaning up, and by the time she was done, she grimaced as she realized that she had to get changed fast.

She made quick work of brushing her teeth, of putting on a nice sweater and skirt with sensible black shoes, before piling her hair up in a twist that would look a little more sophisticated than her usual crazy-wild hair.  Biting her lip as she stared at the box—the diamond earrings Ashur had given her, she finally reached for them, putting them in as she slipped out of the room and down the hallway.

"Daddy, we gotta wait for Jessa!" Kells' voice drifted up the stairs.

"It's fine, Kells," Ashur replied.  She heard the sound of the front door opening.  "Let's go.  Ben and Charity are already in their car, see . . .?"

"But Jessa—"

"Oh, she doesn't want to come," Ashur told him as Jessa stopped at the top of the stairs.  "Nannies normally don't go to these types of things, anyway."

Kells heaved a heavy sigh, but stomped past Ashur out of the house.

The click of the closing door rang in her ears, and the tears that Jessa had been holding back all day finally burst loose as she sank to the floor, leaning against the wall, and cried.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa sighed as she sat atop the wide stone railing of her balcony, her back against the solid wall behind her, knees drawn up before her, feet flat on the cold marble beneath them.  She'd taken off the skirt and pulled on a pair of shorts, yanked down her hair without bothering to pull the pins—she'd probably be sorry for that later—and the earrings?  Those she held in her hand.  She'd started to throw them  at least twenty times, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.  As hurtful as his little trinkets were, she . . . She grimaced.  A part of her cherished them, too . . . Arms wrapped over her stomach, she gazed up at the skies, listened to the night birds as they called to one another . . .

They'd arrived home a little while ago.  Jessa had heard them—the closing of car doors, the indistinct murmur of tiny voices . . . She considered going to tuck Kells into bed, but she didn't dare.  The tears that she'd cried were staunched for now, but she didn't even try to delude herself into thinking that they were done, and if she looked at Kells now . . .

A crisp knock sounded on the bedroom door, but she ignored it, hoping that whoever it was had the decency to go away when she didn't answer.

Her luck was really at an all-time low, however, and she felt Charity's proximity without having to look.

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" the older woman said as she stepped out onto the balcony.

In the weeks since they'd arrived, Jessa had spent a few evenings out here with her, chatting and getting to know her.  Jessa liked her—liked her a lot—and yet, a part of her couldn't quite bring herself to divulge too much, either.  Maybe it was the simple memory of that first morning, of the way Charity had instantly and blindly sought to defend Ashur.  The thing was, if Jessa wanted any kind of answers, maybe she could get them from Charity because she'd tried, hadn't she?  Tried to ask Ashur so many times, and he'd refused to answer her, giving her only bits and pieces of nothing . . .

"It is," Jessa allowed, her voice as thin as the control she had over her emotions.

"Kells seemed a little quiet all evening, but his teacher said that he's so bright, so happy . . ." Charity laughed softly.  "She said that he talks about you all the time, every day, nonstop—talks about you more than he does about his own father . . ."

Jessa didn't respond to that.  What was there to say, and even then, what Charity said?  It hurt, didn't it . . .?

Charity hopped up on the rail and faced her, leaning back against the thicker post behind her as she hooked her hands around her knees.  "Did you have a nice, quiet evening?"  She laughed again.  "I'll bet you don't get too many of those with Kells running around . . ."

"Who is Kyouhei Muira?" she blurted.  It slipped out before she could stop herself.

"Kyou . . . hei . . ." Charity repeated, the joy in her voice fading fast, only to be replaced by a quiet sense of pensiveness.  She sighed.  "Did he tell you—?"

"Hana did," she interrupted.  "Hana . . ."

"Hana?  You . . . You spoke to Hana . . .?"

Jessa nodded.  "I ran into her at the store," she said.  "She asked if we could have tea."

Charity's breath released in a long, slow, steady stream.  "It makes sense . . . I mean, she probably never knew that he'd changed his name . . . When everything happened . . . In a way, it was so harsh when he sent her away.  I mean, as far as we could tell, those two were close—maybe his only real friend, really . . . but after what she did . . ."

It occurred to Jessa that Charity was defending Hana now, whether by accident or design, and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek.

Charity grimaced.  "You know, I don't know how much of this I really should tell you.  I mean, it's not that you don't have a right to know, but . . . I was there, sure, but the story really is Ben's and Ashur's . . ." Trailing off, she stared at Jessa.  She could feel the woman's gaze on her, as though she were trying to see into her head.  "Jessa . . . can I ask you something?  And it's really none of my business, but . . . Is there . . . Is there something going between with you and Ashur?"

"I'm . . . I'm nothing," she whispered.

Charity didn't respond right away, though what she'd gleaned from Jessa's response was anyone's guess.  She sighed, though, pulled her knees up tighter, stared at Jessa in the filmy darkness.  "I don't think that anyone believes that," she said softly, quietly.  "There are moments when he . . ." Waving a hand, she sighed once more.  "A couple years ago, there was an uprising back home, back in Japan.  It was shortly after Ben got custody of the girls, and I was there a lot, helping him with them.  Ashur—Kyouhei back then—showed up, which was weird.  They weren't close at the time.  I think Ben said that he'd only seen Kyouhei once before, and it was years ago.  Kyouhei told him that there were whispers of a youkai uprising, that their parents were helping to plan it.  He went back home, spied for my grandfather—for the Inu no Taisho—but when their father and mother captured Manami—she was there hunting at the time—they . . ." Charity bit her lip, shook her head as a sadness bled into her aura.  "They tortured her— _poisoned_ her.  Kyouhei got her out of there, but he was caught.  Hana came to us, told us that he was in trouble, and Ben . . . Ben challenged his father.  He didn't have a choice.  We found Kyouhei in the basement, tied up, beaten."  She closed her eyes.  "It was . . . It was horrible . . ."

"By who?"

Charity laughed, but it was bitter, sad.  "Their father, the great and mighty Hidekea . . . That's why Ashur changed his name.  That's why he hated the reminder . . . That, and there are probably people who blame him for what happened—people who might seek him out if they knew where he is.  Now, most of those dissidents are in Europe because the tai-youkai allows it.  Ashur never lied to you, I'm sure.  It's just . . . It's painful for him, those memories . . ."

Jessa slowly shook her head, her brain having trouble in reconciling the information she'd just been told.  It answered a few of her questions, but didn't come close to touching the ones that bothered her most: the ones that revolved around Hana . . .

And even so, something about the way Charity described things . . . Jessa just couldn't bring herself to ask the things she wanted to know most of all, didn't want to hear the biased answers, didn't want to hear the things that she knew intuitively, really couldn't help her at all . . .

"You know," Charity said, her voice, even and clear, "what I can tell you is that Ashur . . . I've seen him smile more in the past few weeks than I have in the last three years, and . . . and I have a feeling that it has something to do with you.  I could be wrong, but I . . ." She sighed.  "There's something about the way he looks at you when he thinks no one else is watching, and I think . . . I think if you talked to him, he might tell you everything.  I mean, he trusts you with Kells, and that is huge.  There's not many he does.  He loves that boy more than he loves himself, you see?"

Jessa didn't know what to make of the impromptu pep-talk.  In truth, she didn't know what to make of anything at all.  In her brain, Hana's words kept repeating, over and over again, like a taunt, like a death knell . . .

" _He was . . . How do you say?  He was my, uh, one love?  But he cannot . . . cannot . . . forget me?_ "

Charity frowned.  "Jessa, are you okay?"

Blinking away those words, Jessa forced herself to nod.  "I'm fine," she said, hoping, praying, that Charity wouldn't see right through her.  "You know, if you don't mind, I'm . . . I'm really tired . . ."

"Oh, uh, yeah, I'm sorry . . ."

"No, it's okay," she insisted, wondering absently why it was that no one could actually see just what all the half-answers, the half-truths, were doing to her.

Charity stared at her for another moment.  Then she stood up, slipping off the railing, and she reached over to pat her arm.  "Okay, then," she said.  "If you need someone to talk to . . ."

She slipped quietly out of Jessa's room, the frown on her face deepening as she headed down the hallway toward the stairs.  Ashur was still sitting in Kells' room, reading him a bedtime story. Scowling slightly, she moved on.

Ben looked up from his phone—he'd been in the middle of texting someone—probably Cain.  He started to smile, but the expression faded when he got a good look at his mate's face.  "Something the matter?"

She shook her head, sank down beside him.  "I'm going to talk to Ashur," she said as the memory of the look on the young Irish woman's face flashed through her mind once more: the sadness, that sense of being utterly lost . . . Lost in a world of answers that she didn't have, questions that she couldn't answer . . .

"About what?"

She sighed, turning to stare at Ben.  "Have you noticed anything about him?  Anything at all about his mood?"

"Umm . . . n-n-n-o-o-o-o . . . Should I have?"

Narrowing her eyes, she slowly shook her head. "So, you haven't noticed how he watches Jessa all the time, how he looks up whenever her name's mentioned?"

"No," Ben drawled, arching an eyebrow at her, "but I'm guessing you have?"

She sighed once more.  "Oh, Ben, honestly . . . For being such a steadfast and reliable general, you really, really suck at observation sometimes . . .The thing is, she has so many questions, and, really, it's no one else's place to answer those except for him.  She ran into Hana today, and, apparently, Hana wanted to have tea with her, so she did, and . . . And I don't know exactly what Hana said, but . . ." Trailing off, she shook her head stubbornly, her shoulders squaring as though she were readying herself for battle.  "Anyway, I'm going to talk to him, and—"

"No, you're not," Ben stated flatly.

She snorted and rolled her eyes.  "Okay, then, when you talk to him, make sure you ask him—"

"Oh, yeah, I'm not, either," Ben said.

"Why not?  Someone needs to."

"No, we don't.  Cherry, look . . . He's a grown man, and it isn't up to us to fix things for him.  To be completely candid, I don't think he'd welcome our intrusion, anyway.  He'll get it—they'll get it.  As much as you want to help, this time, neither one of them would benefit from it, so leave it alone."

"But—"

"Uh uh," he said, silencing her with a finger to her lips.  Then he sighed and stood up, grabbing Charity's hand and tugging her out of the room.

"Where are we going?" she demanded.

Ben shot her a look.  "To bed."

"Ben!"

"Charity, no . . . He's not a cub, and you can't fix it for him."

She uttered a frustrated half-sigh, half-groan, but she didn't argue with him as he herded her up the stairs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Okmeamithinknow ——— minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— gin-hayashi85 ——— Crow ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Charity_** :  
>  _But someone needs to talk to him!_


	42. Masquerade

Gin Zelig caught Jessa's arm as she started out of the kitchen with the gorgeous white coconut cake on the pretty crystal stand.  "If anyone asks, tell them you made that," she said, whispering in Jessa's ear.

Jessa blinked and shook her head.  "But _you_ made it . . ."

Gin shook her head, too, very, very adamantly.  "If you say I made it, Zelig-sensei won't share it," she said.  "So, whatever you say, I _didn't_ make it!"

Jessa wasn't entirely sure that it made any sense.  Even so, she nodded.

Ben strode into the dining room with a rather suspicious looking paper bag.

Charity raised an eyebrow.  "What's that?"

Ben chuckled as he dumped the bag onto the table—as innumerable boxes of candles spilled out all over.

"Oh . . . my God . . ." Cain Zelig remarked as he strode into the room with his young boys in his arms.  Most of the children were outside, running around in the yard, playing tag and hide and seek.  "There's no way in hell they're going to fit on . . ." Trailing off, he narrowed his gaze as he turned his head to stare at his wife.  "Gin?  Why does that cake look like one of yours?"

"Nope," she replied, batting her eyelashes in an entirely innocent kind of way.  "I just gave Jessa my recipe; that's all.  I swear!"  Suddenly, she gasped.  "Zelig-sensei!  Did you know?  Jessa's a real, live lady!  A real one!"

Cain nodded but didn't take his gaze off the cake.  " Yes, she is," he allowed.  "Are you sure you didn't make that?"

"Make what?" she asked, her lips twitching just a little.

"How old is he, anyway?" Bas Zelig interrupted, as he let go of the streamer he'd just finished hanging to forestall the altercation he felt brewing.

"I don't know," Ben replied with a shrug.  "I just bought all the candles I could find—in five stores."

Charity heaved a sigh, but laughed when Gunnar Inutaisho strolled into the room with Daniella, Cain and Gin's young daughter, dangling off his arm.  "I believe this is yours, Zelig," he remarked, lifting his curled arm. Daniella giggled.

"Sorry, my hands are already full," Cain remarked.

Gunnar heaved a sigh and shot Charity a quelling look.  She giggled and intercepted the girl, who was till staring at the future Japanese tai-youkai with an expression of near-hero-worship.

Jessa stared at the party hats, the noisemakers—Charity's idea—and shook her head.  If anyone actually could get Ashur to put one of those on, she'd be amazed . . .

Carol slipped into the room and gave Jessa's shoulders a quick squeeze while Gin and Charity hurried into the kitchen to grab the platters of food that Jessa had spent all afternoon preparing.  "How are you holding up?"

Jessa smiled.  "I'm good," she assured her.

Carol didn't look entirely convinced, but she nodded and let it go and followed the other women into the kitchen to help with the food.

It had helped that Ashur had a long meeting-slash-lunch about some business that he was considering putting a bid on, and then he'd said he'd just pick up Kells on the way home.  Jessa had woken up this morning after a fitful night's sleep, thinking that maybe she was overreacting.  After a long talk with her youkai-voice that had reminded her of Hana's very obvious trouble with English, she'd concluded that maybe the things that she'd said were just misunderstood, that maybe she ought to at least try to talk to Ashur about it all—if he'd give her any real answers, anyway . . . As for the whole nanny episode?  Well, that still stung—she'd be lying if she tried to say that it didn't.  The truth of it was, however, that nannies really didn't attend meet the teacher nights, and she knew that logically, even if she didn't like it . . .

So, she'd spent the day cooking, baking, creating some very fancy hors d'oeuvres since she'd figured that his birthday might well be easier to keep casual.  She'd run into the city and picked up about ten bottles of champagne, too, along with sparkling juice for the little ones.

Still, she'd debated for a long while about giving Ashur the presents she'd bought for him.  In the end, she knew that he'd like them well enough, so she'd packaged them up and added them to the ridiculous pile on the side table.

The doorbell rang, announcing the last of the arrivals.  "I'll get it," Manami called, turning on her heel and hurrying to answer it.

"Oh, crowded house," Devlin remarked as he stepped over to deposit his gift on the table.  "Jessa, everyone, this is my mother, Cris.  Mum, this is Jessa, whom you have heard so much about."

"Pleased to meet you—finally," Cris said, grasping Jessa's hand in hers and giving it a little squeeze.

Jessa blinked, stared.  If she'd thought that Devlin fell into the 'pretty' category, his mother was absolutely stunning.  The same merry blue eyes as Devlin, the same brown hair, the same rich color with slight reddish highlights . . . The tiny slip of a woman was smaller even than Gin Zelig, but her smile was absolutely dazzling, and for some reason, she reminded Jessa of the old fairy tales that her parents used to tell her: folklore about the fairies of the glen . . .

"Cain Zelig," Cain introduced himself, setting his boys down so that he could shake Devlin's hand.  "My wife, Gin's around here somewhere . . ."

"Bas," the big man said, also shaking Devlin's hand as his mother stared up at him with very, very wide eyes.

"He's a titan!" she exclaimed softly, her hand fluttering over her chest like she might well pass out.

"Oh, he's just a puppy!" Bas' wife, Sydnie said.

Gunnar snorted, inclining his head in customary fashion.  "I'm Gunnar," he said, popping a tiny, bite sized egg roll into his mouth.  " _Hajimemashite douzo yoroshiku_."

Devlin laughed and inclined his head, as well.  "Pleased to meet you, as well."

A slight smile quirked the rather intimidating man's lips, and he nodded pleasantly.

"So, where's the birthday bo—My _God!_ " Devlin exclaimed, eyeing the mountain of candle boxes.  "How the hell ancient is he, anyway?"

Ben chuckled.  "As near as I can tell, I think this is his three-hundred-sixty-fourth birthday."

Devlin snorted.  "And why hasn't he bloody well stopped counting?"

Cris tapped Devlin in the center of his chest with the back of her knuckles.  "Mind your language, Dev," she chided.

Devlin shot Jessa a rather cheeky grin.  "Quite so . . . I apologize."

Satisfied that he'd been properly chastised, she stepped toward Jessa.  "You're not the swan, are you?"

Blinking since the only swan that Jessa knew of was Manami, she shook her head, casting the woman in question a quick glance.  "Oh, no, that's her, over there," she replied, nodding at Manami, who was speaking in hushed tones with Sydnie.

"Oh, she's stunning, Dev!"

"Mum . . ."

"Oh, my God . . . What is this?"

Kells giggled happily, hopping up and down and clapping his hands.  "It's your birfday, Daddy!"

Ashur shook his head, looking slightly uncomfortable as Charity hurried over to grab his arm before he could escape.   "Happy birthday, Ashur!"

"Uh, thank you . . . I think . . ."

He looked a little shocked as the crowd converged on him, everyone wanting to shake his hand, to offer him congratulations . . . Through the gathering, Ashur caught Jessa's eye.  He didn't smile, but he did nod just a little.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ashur leaned down, snagged the gift bag that he'd stowed under the table when no one was paying much attention.  It was the one from Jessa, and, while he didn't think there was anything untoward in it, he also didn't care for the idea of opening it in front of everyone, either.  He'd much rather wait and open it with just her, somewhere quiet and special, just the two of them.

Everyone else was preoccupied.  The men were in the living room having drinks, while the women were out back, enjoying the cool night air and probably also drinking around the fire pit while Jessa had mentioned something about hanging out with Carol—at least, that's what Manami said on her way out the back doors . . .

In any case, Ashur took a moment to put the gift in his room before checking in on Kells, who was soundly sleeping with Bailey, Connor, and Hayden, all having a makeshift camp out in sleeping bags on the floor of his bedroom.  He wasn't sure if the girls were all sharing a bedroom upstairs, but he figured it was likely since all eight of the bedrooms were likely taken, and a couple of the couples were actually staying in the bunkhouse.

The men were, of course, talking shop when he walked into the living room.  Bas and Gunnar were discussing one of the cases that they were working on, and when they spotted Ashur, they stopped for a moment, both of them turning a speculative eye on him.  "What?" he asked, giving them both a rather suspicious look.

Bas cleared his throat and glanced at Gunnar.  "Well, we were just wondering . . . I mean, you're between business ventures right now, so we thought maybe you'd consider opening up another branch of the youkai special crimes office?  There are still a ton of cases to go through—some of them originated from up this way . . . If you're not interested, that's fine, but you have a good head for this kind of thing . . ."

"Another office?" Ashur echoed.  He hadn't actually considered anything of the sort.

Bas nodded.  "All office expenses would go through the tai-youkai's office—some of them actually get underwritten by the Inu no Taisho since there are a good number of cases that are international in nature.  All travel expenses, all of it . . . And you'd get a monthly stipend, too.  If you don't have anyone you can think of to pull in as a partner or assistant, we'd be happy to make some suggestions, too."

Ashur crossed his arms over his chest.  "Would that make you my boss for a second time?"

Bas chuckled.  "Nope.  They'd be sister offices, but they'd also be fully independent.  I've got my hands full enough as it is without having to do something stupid like oversee your office, too."  He shrugged.  "Give it some thought, and let me know."

Cain sighed.  "If you can take it, that is.  Some of the cases can be a little grisly . . . Not something that a lot of people would want to take on."

"Youkai special crimes . . . I've heard of you lot," Devlin remarked, idly swirling his snifter of brandy.  "Sounds dead depressing, if you ask me."

"Not always," Gunnar remarked.  "When you solve a case that's been open for fifty years or more?  That can feel pretty damned good . . . Had one a few years ago . . . Seventy-eight years, it sat.  Took the better part of two years, but we were finally able to put a face on the killer—and we were able to hunt him down.  Then we got to go inform the families of the five youkai infants that he murdered, and that . . . It was worth it."

Bas nodded.  "Just the look on their faces, like they finally got some closure . . ."

"Speaking of families," Cain remarked, "have you heard anything else from MacDonnough about Jessa's estate?"

Bas snorted.  "He won't even return my calls, Dad," he muttered.  "Damned old bastard, anyway . . ."

Ashur strode over, took his time pouring cognac into the snifter as he considered Bas' offer.  He'd gone to see a man who was interested in selling his biotech business.  He'd started it ten years ago, and it did well enough, though not nearly as well as it probably could do.  Ashur had thought that maybe it would be okay, but the downside of it was that taking over that business would cut into his free time significantly, and with Kells still being so young, he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to commit to something like that right now.

Turning back to face the gathering, he frowned.  "How much time is necessary to put into something like the youkai special crimes unit?"

Bas shrugged.  "It really would depend on if you have someone in there you can trust.  If you do, then you split stuff, so really, it's no worse than any other job.  I mean, the cases are already cold.  Taking weekends off or walking away at five o'clock isn't going to make or break any of them."

"Speak for yourself, Bas," Gunnar muttered.

"Yeah, well, not everyone is a workaholic like you, Gun."

Gunnar smiled at that.  "I take that as a compliment."

Bas rolled his eyes.  "You would."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"He's a jerk—a big, fat jerk!"

Carol nodded in complete commiseration as she tipped the bottle of sake to her lips—one of the two that Jessa had stolen when she'd slipped out of the party just after watching Ashur, take her present and slip it under the table.  Then she'd grabbed not only the booze, but also Carol and had fled to Carol's apartment.

"I can't believe he thought that Eddie cooked all that food!" Carol slurred.  "What a dick!"

Jessa wrinkled her nose.  "I know!  Eddie hasn't been here all week, and he's been in the fridge . . . He should know that that stuff wasn't in there!  It just—poof!"

"All right," Laith said, neatly nabbing the bottle that Carol tried to hand Jessa.  "I'm pretty sure  you've both had more than enough."

Carol rolled her eyes.  "And you haven't had nearly enough," she accused.

"Someone has to make sure the two of you don't get into any trouble," he told her, grinning just a little.

Jessa pushed herself onto her hands and knees and crawled over to Laith, her gaze trained on his face as she leaned to the side just enough to balance while she lifted her hand, poked his cheek with her index finger.  "You've got dimples!  They're so cute!"

Laith chuckled as Carol flopped down next to her and shoved her with her shoulder.  "Back off, hussy!  This one's mine!  Yours is in the big house, being a dick with all the other stiffs . . ." Suddenly, she giggled.  "A dick with the stiffs!"

Jessa giggled, too, leaning against Carol as the two fell over each other, laughing rather maniacally.

"Oh!  You know what he can do?"

"Carol . . ."

She waved a hand to shut him up.  "He can get it up and keep it up—three times in a row! That's gotta be some kind of record, don't you think?"

Jessa snorted, pressing her hand against her nose as she laughed some more. "That's nothing!  Ashur's fallen asleep with his still in me, and then he does it again, first thing in the morning!  I mean, it's a helluva way to wake up!"

"Dear _God_ , details I really don't think I wanted," Laith muttered as he tipped the bottle to his lips.  "Now I need to get sloshed, just to get that image out of my head . . ."

"Are you kidding?" Carol demanded before rounding on Laith again.  "Can you do that?"

He shot her a sidelong look and downed more of the sake.

Jessa giggled so hard that she snorted, which only make her giggle more.  "He's blushing!" she howled.

"Hello?  Irish?  Hello-o-o-o . . ."

She sat up straight, glanced around wildly.  "Why do I hear Dev?" she demanded.

Carol, who had crawled onto Laith's lap, peered over her shoulder at her friend as she hung onto Laith.  "I hear him, too . . . Maybe he's dead . . . Maybe he's talking to us from beyond . . ."

Devlin snorted.  "I am not dead . . . Are you two drunk?"

"I'm not drunk," Jessa huffed indignantly, "and where are you?"

Devlin sighed.  "I'm at home, Irish, in my bed . . . You're the one that called me . . ."

"I did . . .?  Where the hell is my phone . . .?"

"There it is!" Carol said, waving a hand at Jessa.  "You must've boob dialed him when you were crawling around . . ."

Jessa made a face.  "I have very talented boobs, you know.  Just ask Ashur . . . the bastard . . ."  Tapping a finger against her lips, she shrugged.  "Maybe I should go see if he wants me . . . I could use some cash . . . Spent wa-a-a-ay too much on his birthday, and he didn't even want the damn gift!"

Devlin cleared his throat.  "Ashur pays you for . . .?"

"Fucking him," Jessa stated matter-of-factly.  Unfortunately, Laith had just taken a healthy swig of sake, and he choked, sputtering the liquor in a fine spray.

"Eww," Carol squealed.  "You spit on me!"

He chuckled.  "Yeah?  You don't complain about that in bed . . ."

Carol giggled.  "You're right, I don't . . . Why don't you take me to bed now, Laith?"

Jessa stuck out her tongue, grabbing her phone as she got up and staggered to the door.  Considering Carol already had her hands up his shirt, she figured it was time to get out of there, anyway . . . "Bye," she muttered, yanking open the door on the third try before stumbling outside.  Whether either of them heard her was anybody's guess, and Jessa sighed.

" Irish?"

She blinked, having forgotten for a moment that Devlin was still on the phone.  "Oh, hi!  When did you call?" she asked, smashing the phone in the vicinity of her ear.

Devlin sighed.  "You called me, Irish, remember?"

"I did?" she asked, scratching her head as she frowned and stumbled forward.  "Oh, I did . . ."

He sighed again. "You're entirely foxed, aren't you?"

"No . . .Yes."

"Tell me something?"

"Hmm?" she muttered as she concentrated on not falling on her ass.

"Do I need to kill your Ashur?"

She snorted.  "Firstly, he's not mine; he's _Hana's_ —Isn't that a pretty name?  Hana?  So pretty I want to set her hair on fire . . ."

"No fire-starting, Irish.  Ashur isn't really paying you for  . . . for favors, is he?"

She sighed, reaching out holding onto the fence as she shuffled past it.  "Sure . . . the first time, it was diamond earrings.  Then it was a gift card  . . . There was something else, too . . . Oh!  And the car—mustn't forget the car . . ."

"Those weren't just gifts?"

"Yes, gifts that he gave to me after I let him fuck me," she slurred, staggering across the yard, heading around the back of the house.  "Next time I should ask for an island . . ."

"You asked for those things?"

"Of course not," she muttered.  "It's just what he figured I was worth, I guess."

"Love, I get the feeling that he is giving you gifts because you've bewitched him, not because he's . . . paying you . . ." He let out a deep breath when she grunted in reply.  "Okay, so about this, 'Hana' . . . She's the chit from the restaurant, right?"

"He said she was his friend, but she wasn't his friend.  She said she was his one love—his _one_ love . . ."

"Irish?"

"Hmm?"

"Promise me something."

"What?"

"Promise me you're going straight to bed, that you won't go try to confront him until you're not so . . . foxed . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, okay," she muttered just before clicking off the phone and stuffing it into the pocket of her shorts.

Staring up at the balcony, she was still trying to decide if she ought to jump or not when a quiet thud sounded in her ears as she gasped and fell back, only to be caught by a pair of very strong arms.  He didn't let go of her as he jumped back up onto his balcony once more and set her down on her feet.  "Are you drunk?"

She snorted.  "Drunk is such an ugly word, Ashur—Kyouhei—whoever you are.  I prefer foxed or pissed or—"

"Who told you my name?"

She rolled her eyes since he was entirely missing the point.  "Hana did when she told me everything else you didn't think was important," she grumbled.  "Anyway, as I was saying, if you're asking, then yes, I might have drank—drunk—drinked—" she snorted.  "Is, 'drinked' even a word?"  She waved a hand before he could answer.  "I _imbibed_ a bit of sake."

He caught her arm and held onto it when she started to turn away.  "When did you talk to Hana?"

She sighed, head lolling back as she slowly met his gaze.  "What does it matter?  I'm so stupid, you know?  Even after everything she told me, I still . . ." Trailing off as she turned to face him, as she grabbed his shoulders to steady herself, she stared at him, eyes so sad in the moonlight as she blinked at him, slowly, almost enough to mesmerize him . . . "You love her, but you'll use me . . . Do you want me, Ashur?" she asked, her voice dropping to a husky caress as her hands rubbed his chest, his shoulders, as her gaze took on that slow, tilted heaviness—the same look she got when they made love . . .

Shaking himself just enough to break the trance that she inspired in him, he shook his head.  "What are you talking about?  I don't love—"

"I know," she said, her bottom lip quivering precariously.  "I know you don't . . . It's all right, though . . . Just don't . . . don't push me away . . ."

Closing his eyes as she pressed her lips against his, he couldn't help the low groan at the spark, at the fire, at the overwhelming contact of her body against his.  Her kiss was desperate—too desperate, and he hesitated for only a moment before he leaned away.  "Jessa . . . you're drunk—really, really drunk . . . and I want to know what Hana said to you."

"I don't want to talk about her," she insisted.  "I just . . ."

He sighed, gently grasping her hands, pulling them away.  "You need to sleep it off.  We'll talk . . . later."

He scooped her up, held her close, spared a moment to kiss her forehead before jumping over to her balcony, but he didn't stop there as he strode into her room, as he settled her on her bed and drew the duvet up to her chin.  For a brief moment, he considered leaving her there, but discarded the idea, realizing that she'd just follow him back—and probably fall and hurt herself in the process.  Settling on the edge of the bed, he reached out, stroked her hair, winced as the salt of her tears stung him.

She didn't cry, though, more than a couple of tears.  Whether it was just because she was too exhausted to do so or because she simply refused to cry in front of him, he didn't know. He wanted answers, but he wasn't going to get them—not tonight.  Still, the sadness in her eyes—the same sadness that cloaked her youki . . .

"I'm not in love with Hana," he said quietly.  "I've never _been_ in love with her.  We . . . We were close, yes, and for a long time, she was my best friend, and I suppose that on some level, I did . . . love her . . . but not . . ." he sighed, slowly shook his head as the sound of her light snoring broke the night stillness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_A/N_** :
> 
>  ** _Hajimemashite douzo yoroshiku_** _: Gunnar's being formal.  Basically, pleased to meet you (for the first time), please take care of me_.
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
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> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
>  _** Silent Reader
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> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
>  _** — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
>  _** Nate Grey ——— lovethedogs ——— Crow
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _What the hell did Hana say … and when_ …?


	43. Misery Loves Company

"Jessa!"

Uttering a sound, caught up somewhere between a whimper and a groan, Jessa squeaked out a sigh as Kells jettisoned himself from somewhere across the room, only to land directly on her, splayed out like a flying monkey from the old _Wizard of Oz_ movie . . .

"Oh, Kells . . . ugh . . ." she muttered, wishing that she could go right back to sleep since she felt pretty well like hell warmed over.

"What's the matter, Jessa?" Kells asked, ferreting his way up under her chin, snuggling as close to her as he possibly could.  "Are you gonna have a baby now?"

"Wh-What?" she rasped out, struggling to clear her groggy mind since the effects of her sake-binge was still entirely too heavy to shake off.  " _What?_ "

"That means I'm gonna be the brudder!" Kells exclaimed happily  as he squirreled his way off the bed, feet thumping heavily on the floor as Jessa winced.  "An' Daddy can be the daddy, and you can be the mommy!  An' I can name him Blinker Trotsky, but we can call him, 'Trots' instead!"

That decided, he darted out of her room before she could stop him to disabuse him of that insane notion.  For all of a second, she considered, tossing the duvet aside and chasing after the overzealous child.  Then she groaned again and opted instead to bury herself under the comforter once more . . .

She really should have learned her lesson the last time she'd thought that drinking sake was a good idea, but no . . . It was, however, the easiest thing to grab out of the liquor cabinet at the time . . .

"So . . . Kells tells me that you're . . . expecting . . ."

She groaned, but the sound was completely ineffectual, trapped as it was in the pillow she'd smashed her face into, and then, she flew him the bird.

He chuckled.  "Do you need some Tylenol?"

Again, something entire unintelligible . . .

The bed sagged beside her, and she scooted a little farther away.  "Come on, Jessa.  You can't sleep all day.  Everyone's already left, and they said to tell you goodbye."

A half-whine, half-growl as she tried in vain to block out the sound of his voice since it was just a little too loud at the moment.

"Besides, you haven't heard the most fascinating thing yet."

She heaved a sigh and rolled her head just far enough to glower at him.  "Go away, Ashur."

"You might be interested to know that your friend, Carol and Laith both smell a little . . . different today . . ."

Rubbing her forehead, she didn't quite catch onto his meaning since she was too busy, feeling like she'd be much better off if she just chopped off her own head . . . "That's nice . . ."

He grunted.  "Nice? That's nice?  Your friend and Laith become mates, and you think that's just 'nice'?"

She frowned.  "Wait.  What?"

He rolled his eyes but chuckled.  "Mates, Jessa.  Mates."

"O . . . Oh . . ."

He shrugged and peered over his shoulder at her.  "I'd like to open my present now, if you'll come out of hiding . . ."

She sat up, glaring daggers at him as she gripped her temples in her fingertips and furiously massaged.  "Why didn't you open it last night—you know: on your _birthday?_ " she grumbled.

The look he shot her told her quite plainly that he thought that she was simply being disagreeable.  "Because I wanted to open it alone with you, without everyone else watching.  Is that so bad?"

She wrinkled her nose.  "You made it look like I didn't give you anything," she muttered, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze.

He sighed, but pulled out a wad of blue tissue paper, letting it drop on the floor before pulling out the wrapped box—the big one: the Bas-Armagnac.  Reaching over, she neatly plucked it out of his hands and set the box on her other side.  He shot her a quizzical glance, but said nothing as he reached for the next one: the snifters that she also whipped out of his grasp and gestured at the bag once more.  "Those first," she said when he set the bag aside and crossed his arms over his chest.

He didn't smile, but he did look rather amused as he retrieved the gift bag once more and pulled out the small boxes.  "A fountain pen?  I haven't seen one of these in years," he remarked, tugging off the cap and giving the pen a good once-over.  "I like it.  Thank you."

She shrugged and poked a finger at the other small box: the ink in a beautiful crystal inkwell.  "Oh . . . Very nice . . ." he said, looking a little surprised.

She kicked at the bag with her duvet-covered-foot, and he chuckled as he retrieved the last present out of it and let the bag fall onto the floor.  Digging into the wrapping paper, he pulled out the leather journal and blinked, slowly running his fingers over the velvety surface.  "This is . . . Thank you . . ."

She frowned.  "Do you like it?"

He nodded.  "I, uh . . . Yes, I . . . I do . . ."

Her frown darkened.  "You don't sound like you do."

He glanced at her and smiled just a little.  "I used to have one of these—not exactly like this one—not nearly as fine  . . . I always meant to get another, but I just didn't . . . It's perfect."

Biting her lip, satisfied that he wasn't just pretending to like her gifts, she handed him the snifters.

"More drinking glasses?" he asked with a wry chuckle.  "After last night, I'm assuming you won't want to be drinking with me for awhile . . ."

She wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes but handed over the last present.

"Uh . . . Oh . . . I haven't tried this before," he said, carefully pulling the bottle out of the box.  "It's a little early in the day for tasting, I guess, but I'll have to sample it later."

"I tried it in the store," she said.  "It was a lot smoother than your usual."

He smiled as he gathered the gifts up and slipped them back into the bag.  "Thank you, Jessa."  Stretching out beside her, leaning on his elbow, he stared at her for a long minute, his expression a little foreboding, though he reached out, ran his fingertips down the length of her cheek.  "We need to talk."

Somehow, she didn't particularly like the tone of his voice, the gentle but assertive quality of his tone.  "Can we do this later, Ashur?  I don't—"

He sighed.  "No, we can't," he said.  "When did you talk to Hana, and what, exactly, did she say to you?"

And just like that, the slightly less guarded feeling that he'd fostered while opening his birthday presents vanished as Jessa leaned away, drew up her knees, tight against her chest.  "I ran into her when I was shopping for your gifts," she mumbled.  "She wanted to have tea, so I did."

"And what did she say?"

"Does it matter?"

"I think it does," he replied.

Shoving aside the duvet, Jessa stumbled out of bed, scowling at the rumpled clothes that she'd worn yesterday, as she strode around and toward the bathroom.

He sighed.  "Jessa, I want to know."

"Drop it," she stated flatly as she closed and locked the bathroom door before he got any ideas.

Heaving frustrated grunt, she considered simply hanging out in here, maybe for the rest of the summer. Given that the man was demanding answers that she wasn't entirely willing to share . . .

' _And just why should I, I'd like to know?  He knows the truth of their relationship more than I do, so why in hell would I have to tell him?  To humiliate me?  To prove, once and for all, what a stupid, idiotic girl I am?_ '

Her youkai-voice sighed. ' _Oh, honestly, do you really think that's what he's saying?  Didn't you hear what he was trying to say to you last night?_ '

She wrinkled her nose, stripping off her clothes and slapping the wall panel to launch the shower.  ' _Of course I did.  He said he didn't love . . . me . . ._ '

' _He did not say that, Jessamyn!  You cut him off before he could finish!_ '

' _Because I didn't need to hear him say it, damn it!_ '

' _Oh, quit being such a baby, won't you?  Here's a novel idea, Miss Bitch.  Why don't you let the poor man talk and_ listen _to him for once?_ '

' _Because he doesn't want to talk,_ ' she shot back, scrubbing at her scalp with a vengeance.  ' _He wants to listen to me talk—about Hana, and I'm not talking about Hana!  I can't even_ think _about everything she said without—without—_ '

Her youkai sighed—a long, drawn-out, weary sound.  ' _I know, Jessa . . . I . . . I know . . ._ '

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Scowling at the closed bathroom door, Ashur got up, strode over to it, kneeling down to pick the lock since he'd heard it very distinctly.

' _You realize that that may not be the best course of action right now,_ ' his youkai-voice pointed out.

' _Yeah?  And why would that be?_ '

' _Because, you ass, she's already upset with you.  You're just going to make it worse if you barge in there and start demanding answers from her—answers that very obviously hurt her, don't you think?  Or weren't you there last night?  You saw it, didn't you?  The pain in her eyes—the hurt at whatever Hana told her . . ._ '

' _Hana . . ._ '

The last thing—the very last thing—he wanted to do was to talk to her for any reason, whatsoever, but Jessa . . .

The sadness in her expression, the uncanny brightness in her gaze . . . and her gentle pleading for him to just not push her away dug at him, rubbed him raw.  Even the simple memory of it was enough to make him grimace.  Just what had Hana said to her . . .?

' _You know, though . . . Hana doesn't know much English, if she knows any at all, and you know as well as I do, just how some things translate . . . or don't, as the case may be . . ._ '

He sighed and made a face, forcing himself back to his feet.  He grabbed the gift bag off the floor and headed out of the bedroom and down the hallway, toward the stairs and his office beyond.  No, he really needed to find out just what was said, and there were only two people who could really answer that.  One would rather set him on fire than to tell him—or at least, that was the impression he'd gotten.  The other one was Hana . . .

It didn't take long to run a check of all the hotels in Quebec City for Hana's name—one of the perks that came with being a general, he guessed.  Because of his position, he was able to access the secured server as well as a program that one of the hunters, Moe Jamison had written that had the capability to hack any websites that utilized online reservation features.  Ashur didn't know how he'd done it or if it was even legal, but the point was, it worked, and he dialed the hotel's phone number and waited.

"Gran Mal Skyplex Hotel," a very smooth-voiced woman greeted him.  "How may I help you today?"

"Yes, can you put me through to room 706?  Thank you."

"Room 706 is currently unoccupied," she said.  "Can you tell me the guest's name?"

"Hana . . . Hana Satou."

He heard the click of keyboard keys for a few moments before she spoke again.  "I'm sorry sir.  Ms. Satou and her companion checked out early this morning."

Stifling a frustrated growl as he gritted his teeth for a second, Ashur rubbed his forehead.  "All right.  Thank you."

Ending the call, he sighed.  He didn't have her phone number—hadn't wanted it—and he didn't know where she lived now—nothing.

"Damn . . ."

Rubbing his face, he slowly shook his head.  ' _I swear to kami, the entire universe is conspiring against me . . ._ '

' _Kind of feels that way sometimes, doesn't it?_ '

' _Just . . . one thing . . . Can't one thing be simple, easy?_ '

Turning in his chair to get to his feet, he nudged the gift bag with his foot and frowned.  He reached down, retrieved the journal, the pen, and the inkwell and set them on the desk, but the journal was what interested him the most.

He hadn't lied about the one he used to have, but he hadn't been entirely honest, either.  Hana had given him one years ago, but after everything that had happened, he'd thrown it away.  He simply didn't want the reminders of her, of the friendship that had been lost.  Some things weren't meant to be forgiven.  He'd realized that.  Some things really couldn’t be fixed, couldn't be smoothed away with a simple, 'I'm sorry' . . . He'd learned first-hand that sometimes, a lifetime of friendship really meant nothing in the face of what she'd ultimately done . . .

That Jessa had thought to buy this for him . . .?  Just what did that mean . . .?

The computer beeped at him, announcing the delivery of an email.

He sighed, hand still resting atop the fine leather, as he clicked on the notification and waited for it to load.

He didn't recognize the address, which didn't mean much; not really.  There was an attachment—a picture file—but he ignored that for the moment and frowned as he read the message.

' _The old Laughner_ _estate, 2 p.m.  Be there or I may have to pay the hot red-head a visit.  Let's talk_ ,' it said . . .

"Hot red-head," Ashur muttered, clicking on the attachment and narrowing his gaze.  The image opened up as he erupted into a low growl.  It was taken by the pond: him, flat on his back, Jessa straddling him, her head bent back, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, mouth slack, and very, very naked . . .

Closing out the email with a click of the mouse and a harsh growl, a muttered curse, Ashur couldn't help the absolute rage that shot through him.  Whoever it was . . . And he hadn't sensed a damn thing, had he?  Nope, too busy, too caught up in her that he hadn't paid a bit of attention to anyone or anything in the area . . .

A sickened feeling opened up in the pit of his stomach.  Threatening him, he could stand.  That was fine.  Threatening Jessa . . .?

Glancing at the clock, he shot to his feet, chair sliding across the floor, only to smack into the wall.  He didn't know where the old Laughner estate was, but it was already well after one o'clock.

Striding out of the office, he paused at the base of the stairs.  "Jessa!  I've got to go.  Keep an eye on Kells!" he hollered.

She stepped into the hallway, hairbrush in hand.  "Okay," she said.  "Will you be out long?"

"I . . . I don't think so," he replied.

She nodded and went back into her room.

He yanked his shoes on and grabbed his sword out of the hall closet before striding toward the door and out into the sunshine.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Striding past the ruins of an old French-style mansion, Ashur willed himself to be calm, to maintain his composure, even as the need to tear something to bits tried to overwhelm him.  Every time he thought about that picture, he grew a little hotter, a little angrier.  Whoever had dared to intrude on his land, to watch them during a time that should have remained a beautiful moment . . . That he had dared to look at Jessa at a moment like that . . . Well, there was a good chance that whoever it was, was going to die . . .

It was a beautiful space—he'd have enjoyed just wandering through it—if circumstances were different.  He couldn't sense anyone near yet, which wasn't entirely surprising.  Whoever it was had ample time to set up things to his advantage, didn't he . . .?

Sparing a moment to adjust the sword on his hip, Ashur stopped beside a low stone fence that was crumbling and breaking down.  The sword, a combination of Hidekea's claw and Ashur's fang, was different from most youkai blades.  Because he was an earth elemental youkai, Ashur's sword reacted to and could be used to channel earth and, to a lesser extent, other elements, as well.

Hidekea had always told him, however, that he wasn't nearly as strong with the weapon as he should have been, and Ashur supposed that there was truth in that.  The thing was, he tended to be equally adept at every weapon he'd trained with in an effort to find the one that suited him best, so maybe he wouldn't be considered a master swordsman, but it didn't hinder him that much, either, and with the added ability to channel elements, the sword had served him well over the centuries.

The wind picked up, lifting his golden brown bangs, tossing them haphazardly.  The shifting of the breeze carried the unseen youkai's scent easily enough, and Ashur crossed his arms as he waited.

Ray Johnston, a bison-youkai, stepped out of a grove of trees.  Ashur recognized him easily enough.  He had been present at a couple of the meetings at the Muira compound back in Japan during the ill-fated youkai uprising three years ago.  Mud brown eyes set back in the deep recesses of his eye sockets, overshadowed by the shaggy, frizzy black hair that stuck up in crazy tufts all over his head, he was huge, almost as big as Bas Zelig, and he puffed out his chest in a move of subtle intimidation.  The tactic was completely lost on Ashur.

"So, you did come," Johnston said, his tone, mocking, belligerent as he swaggered toward him, hands on his thick hips, a condescending smile on his wide face.  "I was hoping you wouldn't.  Kind of hoped you'd be stupid enough not to—give me a chance to get to know that hot little number—the red-head . . . See if she ain't as fiery with me as she was with you . . ."

He was deliberately goading Ashur, and he knew it.  That didn't really make the rage that rose in him any easier to control.  "You'll never find out," Ashur growled.

Johnston kicked his foot in the tall grass, his grin turning just a little nastier.  "I'll rip her pussy wide open and make her scream for more.  Show her what it's like to fuck a _real_ man."

"Suppose you just tell me what you want so we can get on with this," Ashur growled, unable to keep the irritation out of his tone.

"Well, that depends," Johnston drawled, "Suppose _you_ tell _me_ just what happened?  I know your damned brother butted his nose in where it didn't belong, but you . . .? How is it that you were able to walk away from all of it?  Why were you the only one out of everyone who lived?  Shouldn't you have died, too?  I mean, you _said_ you were with us, didn't you, Kyouhei- _sama?_ "

"I owe you no explanations," Ashur replied in an entirely flat tone of voice, ignoring the blatant barb he'd inserted with the use of the honorific.  "I don't owe you a damn thing."

"Now, see, that's where you're wrong.  Allen Yates was a friend of mine, and he was caught up in that little tussle.  He's dead now, thanks to that no-good hunter, Ryomaru."

"That's where _you're_ wrong," Ashur said, his voice dropping to a low rumble.  "Every single person makes their own choices.  No one made him fool enough to get involved in something that could and did blow up in their faces.  No one asked  you to trespass on my land, to take pictures of something that was not meant for you to see—for anyone else to see . . . and no one asked me to end you, either—but I will."

Johnston threw his head back and laughed, as though the very idea that Ashur could and would fight him was little more than a joke to him.  "Even if you could beat me—you can't, but it is what it is—there are a hundred more people out there who want answers, and now that you're demeaning yourself by working for the Zelig?  You're easy pickings . . . You, that bitch, the brat . . . Tell me something, _Kyouhei-sama_ . . . Just who is that kid?  Want to hear my guess?"

Narrowing his gaze as the air around his youki seemed to crackle in the otherwise brilliant afternoon, Ashur squelched the rising anger that Johnston or anyone would have the nerve to make threats against people who had nothing at all to do with the situation.  "You and your kind can threaten me all you want.  I'm not afraid of any of you, and I never will be, but you and those like you will stay the hell away from her and from him.  You have something against me?  Fine, but if anyone— _anyone_ —threatens them?  I'll knock you down."   

"That kid . . . He's your baby brother . . ."

"Actually . . ." Ashur drawled, purposefully allowing his youki to soak into the earth under his feet, "he's my _son_."

"Your son, is he?  With all the hallmarks of a true Muira . . ." Johnston goaded.  "Is that right?"

"I have walked away from that life," Ashur replied.  "Ordinarily, I'd suggest that you do the same, but, well . . ." Trailing off as he cracked his knuckles by simply flexing his fingers, he smiled just a little—a bitter smile, as full of irony, of grim satisfaction.  "You already dug your grave, Johnston."

"Cute," he laughed, throwing his tree-trunk-like arms out wide, only to bring them forward fast, back and forth, like a prize fighter warming up before the title match.  "If you think you can . . ."

He shot forward in a blur of motion—admirably fast for such a large youkai.  Ashur flipped out of the way as the bison's fist smacked hard into the dirt where he had been standing, a groaning tremor at the point of impact, a rain of dirt and grass blowing up, showering down in a wide arc.  "Fast little shit, aren't you?" he said, sounding more amused than he ought to.  Then again, Ashur had the distinct feeling that the bison really believed that he held the upper hand.

Sprinting toward him once more, Johnston let out a bellow, almost a war-cry, leaping  high into the air, legs bent, fist drawn back, as a ball of light formed on the opened and outstretched palm of his forehand.  He released it, and Ashur jumped, but he wasn't anticipating the volley of smaller energy spheres that Johnston fired off within moments of the first one: spheres that expanded at a horrifying speed as they hurled toward him.

He eluded the largest of them, hissing in pain as three of the smaller ones struck him in the leg, in the arm, in the side of his chest.  He felt his flesh tearing, could smell the stench of burning muscle.  Flung back from the impact of the exploding spheres, Ashur caught himself as he slid over the ground, as he raised a dirt wall behind him to stop the slide.

The dirt wall crumbled seconds later when Johnston's fist smacked into it.  Ashur rolled out of the way, coming up with a grimace as the electric pulses from the energy blasts continued to reverberate throughout his body, wreaking havoc on his nerves as he struggled to make himself move.

Johnston lunged at him again, but this time, Ashur stomped the ground, sending an explosion of earth directly at him, a furrow that grew and expanded, opening up wider as it shot away from him, a gully, a fissure, that the bison couldn't avoid.  Failing wildly, arms up, waving, feet that lost their footing, pistoning in a crazy dance before he plunged into the gash that was easily ten feet deep and twice as wide.  The sounds of the man's screams echoed in the air as Ashur raised his hands, slammed his palms together.  The earth groaned and grunted as he locked his hands together, and with a final creak, the crevice snapped closed, silencing Johnston forever as a subterranean blast, almost like a tremor, reverberated up through the earth as the buried youkai exploded.

Letting out a deep breath as the final rumbles slowed then quieted, Ashur glanced down, only to grimace at the crimson stain that was slowly spreading on the pristine white shirt.  For some reason, that fight felt a little anticlimactic.  Given the bison's tough talk, he should have put forth more effort than he did, but then, Ashur had learned over time that the bigger, brawnier opponents usually leaned a little too heavily on brute strength alone.

With a grimace, a grunt, he sat down hard on the crumbling stone wall to yank open his shirt to inspect the damage.  The wound was clean enough, he supposed, though the energy ball had burned into him before exploding just below the surface.  He didn't pull up the leg of his pants to look at it, but he figured it was the same, which was probably why his nerves had gone haywire for a moment, too.  The dampness of his blood was pooling in his sock in an entirely unpleasant kind of way, but he ignored that, giving his arm a little shake, sending droplets of blood flying.

He was a mess, wasn't he?  And yet, the idea of going home wasn't nearly as appealing as it ought to have been, either . . . He didn't have to be brilliant to realize that Jessa would likely freak out, and he never wanted Kells to see such things, either, and he sighed.

Lifting his gaze, he waved his hand then let it drop heavily onto his thigh, releasing the remnants of the earth wall he'd brought up.  It crumbled slowly, and when it was done, the entire field looked exactly as it had before the fight began.  There were no marks, not a blade of grass disturbed, even where he'd opened up the gash in the earth that had become Johnston's final resting place.

He grimaced.  It was one of those things, wasn't it?  One of the many things that Hidekea had scoffed at over the years—all throughout his training, whenever he'd stood there afterward, frowning at the destruction of the earth that was invariably left behind, it had come as second nature to him, to fix it, to smooth it away once more.

" _What do you think you're doing?" Hidekea demanded, crossing his arms over his chest as he glowered down at twelve-year-old Kyouhei_.

" _It was ruined," he replied, resisting the urge to shuffle his feet nervously, painfully aware of the censure in Hidekea's voice_.

" _It's a mark that a battle took place here," Hidekea stated.  "You bow not to the earth; the earth shall bow to you_."

". . . _Hai, otou-san_ . . ."

 _Hidekea snorted indelicately as he turned on his heel to stride away.  "Too damn soft. That one will never be anything but a failure," he muttered under his breath, and whether he intended for Ashur to hear him or not, he had_ . . .

As the ugly memory faded, Ashur pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the twinging nerves that nearly hobbled him, the twitching spasms that still ricocheted through his arm, his leg, his chest as he slowly turned and walked away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Posted a chapter of **Purity 10:Anomaly** for xSerenityx020, so give it a read if  you want.  Comments are welcomed, but as it stands, that story is still on hiatus.  Enjoy the weekend_!
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
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> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader ——— xSerenityx020
> 
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>  ** _AO3  
> _** Okmeamithinknow ——— minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— lianned88
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _Bastard_ …


	44. The Blame Game

Jessa sat, arms crossed over her chest, a rather dumbfounded expression on her face as she watched Carol get ready for work.  After a nice, long, hot shower, the woman looked a little more like herself, but she still retained the darkened smudges under her eyes that bespoke their overindulgence the night before.

The perplexing thing, though, was that, other than saying that she drank too much sake, she hadn't said anything else about being mated or, well, Laith in general . . .

"So, Carol . . . Did anything . . . _interesting_ happen after I left last night . . .?"

Carol paused with her brush halfway down her hair to glance at Jessa.  "No . . . Not really . . ."

"And you're . . . Sure . . .?  You and Laith didn't have any kind of talk . . .?"

Carol giggled as she resumed her task of fixing her hair.  "Well, not _talk_ , exactly," she said.  "At least, not out loud . . ."

Jessa shook her head.  "But you had sex!" she blurted.

Carol's giggles escalated.  "Well, yeah . . . There's nothing in the world better than slightly drunk sex—too drunk and the ol' weenie heads south, you know . . . so, just enough booze to loosen you up . . ."

She waved her hands to interrupt.  "Without a condom!"

Carol had to pause and think about that, tapping her index finger against her lips as she scowled up at the ceiling, and then gasped, eyes widening, mouth dropping open into a gaping 'oh'.  Jessa nodded emphatically.  "Oh, God, we did . . ."

"Yes!" Jessa hissed. Heaving a tumultuous sigh, she leaned forward, satisfied that she'd gotten her point across.

"Oh, no," Carol groaned, dropping onto the chair behind her, gripping her forehead in her hands. "Oh, my God!" she whined again, voice muffled by her hands.  "Oh, damn, I need to get to the pharmacy . . ."

"What?  Why?" Jessa demanded, shooting to her feet just in time to grab Carol by the arms before the woman had a chance to flee.

"I've got to get a morning after pill," she insisted.  "Sorry, dollface, but I gotta run . . ."

Jessa watched Carol's hasty retreat with a gap-mouthed expression as she slowly shook her head.

Just what in the world was going on . . .? And just what in the world was a 'morning after pill' . . .?

Well, she was going to get some answers, damn it . . .

Stomping out of Carol's apartment, she headed toward the stable, stepping inside just in time to hear Kells' sweet voice, and the words . . . "Is Carol gonna have a baby, too?  Jessa's gonna have one!"

Laith stopped what he was doing and turned abruptly to stare at Kells.  "Wh-What?"

"No, I'm not," Jessa grumbled, hoping she wasn't as red-faced as she thought she might be.  "Kells, just because I didn't feel very well this morning really doesn't mean I'm . . ." Trailing off with a wince, she made a face and yelled,  "I'm pregnant . . ."

"Hmm, now, that was just not what I was expecting to hear," Devlin drawled as he stepped into the stable, leading Fletch by the reins.

"Heaven help me," she muttered, turning to glower at her friend.  "I'm _not_ pregnant," she hissed.

Devlin blinked and stared at her, his eyes narrowing a little more with every passing second.  "I should hope not," he drawled.  "You don't even smell mated, so it'd be kind of a long-shot . . ."

"Jessa can be my mate!" Kells exclaimed, speeding over to throw his arms around Jessa's knees.  "You can be my mommy, too!"

She heaved a sigh and tousled the boy's hair.  "Oh, Kells, it doesn't work exactly like that . . ."

Devlin chuckled.  "One or the other, young'un, but not both—not _ever_."

"Here," Laith said, handing Kells the lead that he'd just attached to Humpty Dumpty's bridle.

"Thanks!" Kells hollered, taking a moment to calm himself before taking the lead and walking the pony out of the stable and into the paddock.

"Oh, hmm . . . Now, you, on the other hand . . . You smell quite different," Devlin remarked, frowning thoughtfully at Laith, who scratched the back of his neck and looked a little sheepish overall.

"You know, it's not really of either of your businesses," he grumbled, stomping over to retrieve a pitchfork to muck out Humpty Dumpty's stall.

"Maybe, except Carol doesn't seem to be aware of anything," Jessa pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest stubbornly.

"She doesn't?" Devlin blurted, rounded eyes shifting to stare at Laith.

Laith sighed.  "I'm going to tell her," he muttered.  "She was a little hung over this morning, though, so I figured I'd wait till she was in a better mood to explain everything."

 She still wasn't entirely pacified.  "Why on earth would you do something like that without talking to her?"

Laith snorted.  "It's not like I did it on purpose," he admitted.  "It just . . . happened . . . and my youkai thought it was a good idea, so . . . I went with it."

Jessa rolled her eyes and slowly shook her head.  "It would serve you right if she decided that you're insane and that she never wanted to speak to you again."  Then she grimaced when Laith's gaze dropped to the floor, and she sighed.  "Okay, I'm sorry.  That was mean.  Honestly, though, how could you think that making her your mate without her knowledge—she doesn't even know about us, you know!"

"Well, I was a little drunk," he grumbled, scuffing his boots against the scratched wooden floor.  "Besides, she's your best friend, isn't she?  I'd have thought you'd be thrilled about this."

She opened her mouth to gainsay him, but Devlin shot her a look frowning at her as he jerked his head to the side, and she rolled her eyes.  "I'm going inside," she muttered casting Devlin a telling glower for his efforts.  "I need to start dinner, anyway . . ."

It just figured, didn't it?  Jessa had no idea, just what Carol would say about the whole thing.  It made her whole situation seem a lot less bleak, though, didn't it?  After all, at least she knew where she stood, even if she didn't like it . . . Carol knew nothing, and honestly, trying to explain to her that Laith had taken it upon himself to make everything permanent?  She sighed.

Maybe she ought to have Ashur talk to him.  If he could talk some sense into Laith, that was . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Johnston."

A heavy sigh on the other end of the phone call greeted him, and he frowned, glancing up from the pile of contracts that he still had yet to go through.  "Vince?  It's me . . ."

He frowned as the sound of his sister-in-law's usually upbeat voice greeted him.  "Tess?  Hey, what's up?"

She sighed again, although this one sounded more like a very deep breath than an actual sigh.  "It's Ray," she said.  "He left a few hours ago—wouldn't say where he was going, just that it was something he had to take care of.  Anyway, I was trying to call him to see when he'd be home, but it all keeps going straight to voicemail . . . Have you seen him?"

Dropping the pen from his fingers, he rubbed his temple, squeezing his eyes closed.  "Uh, not for a couple days, actually . . . Not since he mentioned that he'd found Muira."

She cleared her throat, and he heard the water tap turn on in the background—not surprising.  Whenever Tess got upset, she tended to do one of two things: clean or bake.  He was guessing that it was likely the former of those two options.  "You . . . You don't think he'd . . .?"

"What?  Go after him?  No . . . It'd be stupid for him to go alone . . ." Vince replied, inflicting enough bravado into his tone to comfort the woman, or so he hoped.

Tess clicked her tongue—another nervous habit of hers.  He might not be able to see her, but he wouldn't be surprised if she were tugging at her earlobe, too . . . "I . . . I don't understand," she said quietly.  "I don't see why we can't just live and let live . . . I-I-I mean, I agree, there shouldn't be any hanyou in line to be tai-youkai—nothing but pure youkai should ever hold that title, but really, is it such a big deal?"

Drumming his claws against the glass top of the desk, Vince grunted.  "That's what we think, too," he allowed.  "Thing is, if we just go with it, we're no better than the ones who think it's great, awesome, fantastic . . ."

"I . . . I suppose," she said, but she didn't sound entirely convinced, either.  "If, uh . . . If Ray calls, will you let me know?  We . . . We had a little argument before he left.  The girls had asked me to meet them for lunch, and I wanted him to watch Cade, but he said he had a meeting, so . . . So, I called him selfish . . ."

"I'll tell him," Vince replied.  "Don't worry about it.  He _is_ a selfish son of a bitch, and he knows it."

She tried to laugh, he'd give her that much.  It was a pretty abysmal failure, but she'd tried.  "Thanks," she said.  "Speaking of Cade, I think he's awake.  I've got to go."

"No problem.  Give him a hug for me."

"I will.  Thanks, Vince.  Come by when you can."

"Absolutely," he replied.  Clicking off the phone, he dropped it onto the piles of documents and heaved a sigh of his own.

Damn that idiot brother of his, anyway—always going off, doing things half-cocked, never stopping to think about anything in the tunnel vision of his mind.  He'd always been like that, ever since they were little.

Even so, he reached for the phone and dialed Ray's number, frowning, but not surprised when the call went instantly to voicemail.

' _Eh, who knows?  Maybe the fool's out somewhere, trying to make Tess feel bad for having the gall to ask him to watch his own kid for one day . . ._ '

Reaching for the contract he'd been looking over, he sighed again, pushing his brother out of his mind.  After all, the contracts were due, some of them as early as tomorrow, and it was up to him to figure out which ones were lucrative enough to bother with.  He'd worry about Ray when the idiot bothered to come by to get his next batch of unlucky targets . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ashur sighed and grimaced, straightening the cuffs of the billowing white shirt he'd put on after his shower as he sat on the sofa and tried to focus on the reports he'd just gotten from Ontario regarding a few youkai who had gone missing in the last couple years.  The incidents didn't seem connected, at least, on the surface, but even so, it was something that required a little attention to figure out if there was something going on or not.

' _You know, you might want to report that altercation to Cain.  You know, just in case some kind of report happens to make it to him—a missing bison-youkai . . ._ '

He frowned since he hadn't actually thought of that, either.

' _You were well within your rights to defend yourself.  The Zelig will agree, too._ '

He snorted.  ' _Like that matters.  He deserved what he got after invading my land like that . . . for threatening Jessa and Kells . . ._ '

' _And you knew that it really was just a matter of time before they found you—before someone demanded answers, even if they have no right to ask.  You heard the whispers, the innuendo, the guessing. That's why you moved here, to start with—in the hopes that you could distance yourself and Kells from all of it, but knowing deep down that you couldn't . . ._ '

' _I did.  I heard it all,_ ' he agreed.  ' _Kells, however . . . He never deserved that . . . Maybe I should have thought twice before accepting the position of general . . ._ '

' _Maybe, but you know, general or not, it was bound to happen sooner or later, and it'll probably happen again.  But you are being stupid, trying to hide it from Jessa, at the very least.  Do you honestly think that she won't notice?  Because if you think that  you can go another night without her, you're sadly mistaken._ '

Ashur snorted.  ' _Horny bastard._ '

His youkai chuckled.  ' _Yeah, so, what does that make you?_ '

Lip curling back in a sardonic little grin, he shook his head.  ' _I'll go along with it . . . I mean, if I must . . ._ '

'. . . _Jackass._ '

"Ashur, we have to talk."

Blinked as he glanced up at Jessa, he very nearly smiled at the look of utter vexation on her beautiful face.  Brows drawn together, lips puckered into a very petulant little pout, she had her arms crossed over her chest as her gaze met his and darkened.

He cleared his throat.  "Okay."

She gave a curt nod and flopped down on the sofa beside him.  "Do you know that they did?" she demanded, flipping her head, her hair carrying with it the scent of her shampoo.  "I mean, honestly, do you _know_ what they _did?_ "

"Uh, no, since I've no idea who you're talking about, but I have every faith that you're about to tell me."

She wrinkled her nose and pinned him with a no-nonsense glower.  "This isn't funny, Ashur Philips!  This is serious!  And . . . And did you know that they have a thing call the 'Morning After pill'?"

"Okay, it's serious," he allowed.  "And . . . I've heard of it."

She snorted.  "Do you know what it's _for?_ " she demanded.

"I have a good guess."

Again, the adorable little snort.  "Focus, Ashur.  We need to be on the same page here."

"Okay," he agreed.  "Though I still am not entirely sure what you're rambling on about."

Those amazing eyes of her narrowed dangerously, and for a moment, he had to wonder if she was considering setting him on fire.  Again.  "Laith took Carol as his mate."

"I could have sworn I told you that this morning."

"First off, I was hung over this morning, so not a lot of anything really stuck," she said, tapping her temple to emphasize her point.  "Second off, you didn't say that he didn't tell her what it all meant!"

He stared at her for a moment before slowly arching an eyebrow.  "He didn't tell her?"

She rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in the air, only to let them fall heavily into her lap.  "No, he didn't!  That's what I've been trying to tell  you!  And then she went out to get one of those pills before she went to work—I had to look that up on the internet to see what it was—not that he'd have been foolish enough to do that—" She gasped, eyes rounding even more. "Oh, my God!  He _wouldn't_ . . . would he . . .?"

Ashur sighed.  "Ordinarily, I'd have to say that it'd be a damn foolish thing to do, but, given that he didn't even tell her what he was doing?  Well, if he did do that, too, then I'd guess she'd probably be in the market for a new mate sooner rather than later . . ."

"You have to talk to him."

He blinked and barked out a terse chuckle.  "I'm sorry.  I could've sworn you just said that I have to talk to him."

She nodded emphatically.  "I did.  You do.  You've got to tell him that he has to tell Carol!  This isn't something that is just going to go away, you know!  We're talking about the rest of their lives!  I mean, this is _serious_ , Ashur!"

He grunted as he tried to turn his attention back to the reports.  "Oh, you did say it.  Yeah, I'm not going to do that."

"Why not?"

He scowled at her.  "Surely you can understand why I'm not going to," he replied.  "I'm a firm believer in fixing your own mistakes, and this one is most certainly _his_."

She pouted at him, but it was one situation where that adorable little pout wasn't going to work.  There was no way, short of God, beaming himself down in the middle of the living room in front of him, that he was going to give in, period.

She must have realized that her ploy wasn't working, and Ashur sat back when she decided to try a different tactic.  Climbing onto his lap, settling herself astride him, she slipped her arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him.  "Please," she murmured between kisses.

"No," he replied, grasping her upper thighs and pulling her a little closer.  "But you can keep doing this . . ."

She sighed, shivering just slightly, though he had a feeling that it had very little to do with the temperature in the room.  "But . .  Carol's my friend . . . and I hate . . . that she . . .  has no . . . idea . . ."

He grunted, hands slipping up to sink into her ridiculously fine hair.  "She's a big girl . . . She'll . . . figure it . . . out . . ."

"She'd figure . . . it out faster . . . if you . . . talked to  . . . Laith . . ." Jessa breathed against his lips, drawing herself up, arching her back, pressing her body against his.

"No," he replied, nipping her bottom lip.  She groaned, the shift in her aura, in her scent, immediate and intoxifying.

"Ashur!"

He sighed and leaned far enough back to keep her from kissing him for a minute.  "Jessa, I'm not doing it," he told her flatly.  "I know you care about Carol, but it's really none of our business, you realize.  If I go out there, what do you think is going to happen?  I'm his boss—and the general of this region.  I can't just go out there and tell him what to do—and you can't, either."  Seeing the look of utter concentration on her face, he sighed.  "And you can't tell her any more than he has.  Whatever she finds out needs to come from him."

She didn't like what he'd said.  He could see it on her face.  She let out a sigh, pushed against him to crawl off, but he held onto her.  "Let go, you Philistine."

He chuckled, but that chuckle became a hiss of pain when she inadvertently grabbed his forearm where he'd take the hit earlier.  "Damn!"

She gasped and flinched, then frowned at him as she slowly reached for his sleeve.

"It's nothing," he lied, pushing her hand away gently.

"That didn't sound like, 'nothing'," she said.

When he refused to let her push his sleeve up, she shook her head and cut through it with her claws, much to his chagrin.

"What's this?" she asked, picking at the tape he'd used to close the gauze he'd wrapped around it.

"It's fine," he insisted, trying to push her back.

She shot him a dirty look and unwound the gauze, only to gasp when she saw the wound he was trying to hide from her.  "What . . .?  What happened?"

"It's not a big deal, I promise," he said.

She scowled at him.  "If it's not a big deal, then tell me what happened," she countered.

He sighed, pulling her back against his chest, tucking her head under his chin as she frowned at his arm.  "We're alone—finally alone—after weeks of endless houseguests," he told her.  "Surely you can think of something else you'd rather do than worry about this when it'll be gone by tomorrow?"

"Are you keeping the truth of it from me because you're trying to protect me or because _you_ don't trust _me?_ " she parried quietly.

"You don't need to worry about it," he replied.  "It's not a big deal, and . . . and it won't happen again."

She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted when Kells came barreling in.  Skidding to a halt next to the sofa, he tilted his head to the side and stared at the two of them.  "Why's Jessa on your lap, Daddy?"

Ashur cleared his throat but didn't relinquish his hold on Jessa, even though his arms did loosen just a little.  "Oh, uh . . . She . . . She had something in her . . . her eye," he replied, hoping that the boy would buy it.

Kells thought about it for a few moments, then scrambled onto the sofa and in between them, shoving his rear end in Ashur's face in the process before plopping down on Ashur's abs, which wouldn't have been so bad, but the injury to his chest protested loudly, and he had to bite back a groan.

"I don't see nuffin'!" Kells hollered, using his hands to pry Jessa's eye wide open as he leaned in, nose to nose with her to inspect her eye.  She laughed.

"Watch your claws, Kells," Ashur admonished, wincing as he grasped the lad's foot and moved it over when he inadvertently smashed the balls of his foot a little too close to Ashur's parts.  "Your feet, too . . ."

Kells giggled, pretty well ignoring his father as he threw himself against Jessa's chest in a big hug.  "It's a snuggle sandwich," he declared happily.

"Is it now?" Jessa laughed, tousling the boy's hair and giving him a gentle squeeze.  Over his shoulder, she met Ashur's gaze, her cheeks pinking slightly.  She stared at him, as though she were transfixed, as she slowly blinked.  Her eyes sparkled in the warm lamplight, and she didn't smile, but she didn't have to.  It was all there in her eyes . . .

Kells yawned and slumped against her, and she finally broke the moment as she glanced down at the boy.  Her smile surfaced once more.  "He's asleep," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

He slipped his arms around Kells' stomach and upper body and lifted him slightly as Jessa carefully scooted off his lap and gathered the boy up to put him to bed, pausing long enough for Ashur to kiss his rounded cheek—a cheek that never failed to remind him of a ripened peach, right down to the slightly rosy glow . . .

She smiled as she straightened up.  "I'll be right back," she said, but she stopped short, eyes widening in shock, then narrowing along with the soft gasp that slipped from her lips.  "Ashur . . ."

Glancing down to see just what had elicited that kind of a response from her, he sighed when he saw it: all of Kells' movements had jabbed him in the wounded spot on his chest, and it had bled through the bandage that he'd put on after his shower.  "Damn . . ."

She pinned him with a, 'Don't-You-Dare-Move' look and hurried from the room with the boy in her arms, and he sighed once more.

Taking his time, he worked the buttons, leaned forward far enough to tug off the ruined shirt, giving up on the idea of trying to keep Jessa at bay since she'd just resort to using her claws, and, considering she'd already ruined the shirt by cutting away the sleeve, he had very little doubt that she would repeat the same thing now . . .

' _So, you're just going to sit here and wait for her to come back down here, and . . . what?  Treat you like a cub?_ '

He snorted at that reference.  ' _I'm not a child._ '

' _Yeah, well, hate to tell you, Kyouhei, but she's still going to have a fit when she sees it, and while she's at it, you might as well show her the one on your leg, too, because if you don't and she discovers that later, there's going to be hell to pay.  Dunno if you've noticed, but I have.  That woman's got one hell of a temper . . ._ '

' _So . . . You think I should just strip right down?  Is that what you're saying?_ '

' _Well, yeah.  Yep, you might as well._ '

He snorted again.  ' _No._ '

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Join me on Facebook!  Why?  Well, I have a tendency to hang out there most often, and I also have a tendency to post random teasers for this and other stories, regardless of chapter ... Some come on in and hang out with me!   https://www.facebook.com/groups/227815614414830/_
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> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
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>  ** _MMorg  
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>  ** _AO3  
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _A snuggle sandwich_ …?


	45. Chiding

Jessa stomped into the living room, arms crossed stubbornly over the first aid kit he kept in the linen closet in the hallway upstairs, as though she were prepared for a full-out assault as she rounded the sofa to plant herself in front of Ashur, who said nothing as he set the papers aside on the table next to him and waited for the shoe to drop.

"You're going to tell me what happened," she stated in a curiously flat tone as she sat down and leaned in to carefully tug the tape that held the gauze pad in place.

He sighed.  "I ran in to someone who . . . who was familiar with my father and mother," he admitted, his tone a little harsher than he meant for it to be, mostly because he really didn't want to tell her, didn't want her to worry when there was really nothing to worry about anymore—he hoped.

"About the youkai uprising?" she asked evenly, almost distractedly, as she gently peeled the pad away from his chest.  "God . . ."

"It's better than it was," he told her.  "It'll be fine."

"It doesn't look fine," she shot back, sparing a moment to glower at him.

He sighed again.  "Who . . . Who told you about that?"

She blinked a few times, as though she were trying to figure out, just what he was talking about.  "The uprising?  Charity did."

He nodded.  "Yeah, that . . . Anyway, if she told you that . . ."

She pulled some sterile cotton pads out of the kit and doused them generously with disinfectant wash.  "She told me about Ben's fight with your father . . . She said that you chose to spy for the Inu no Taisho."

He grimaced.  "Sounds like she was trying to paint me as a hero—or a martyr . . ." he grumbled.

"And you're not?"

He snorted.  "Hardly.  I'm neither."

"So, this youkai you ran into?" she asked, choosing to ignore his harsh statement for the moment, but he wasn't stupid enough to think that she'd let it drop entirely.  "He did this?"

"Yes," he said, biting down on his cheek when she gently pressed the cotton pads against the open wound.  It stung, but he'd be damned if he let her know that.  Given that she was being as careful as she possibly could, he figured that was good enough . . .

"And where is he now?"

He blinked and frowned as he stared at her, her expression completely blank, her tone as casual as if they were talking about the weather.  It was a little to calm, wasn't it?  "Why?"

She shrugged.  "Because I'm goin' ta hoont him daw, and I'm goin' ta set him on ten kinds o' fire—and when he's done burnin' to a crisp oon the ootside, then I'm goin' ta toast him oon the inside, hoot enough ta bool his blood in his veins, to cook the meat on his bones till he'll be fall apart tender, ye ken?"

He cleared his throat, unsure if he was more surprised at her dire threats or the fact that her absolutely adorable Irish brogue had just gone from, 'cute' to 'hot as hellfire' in about two seconds . . . "You . . . want to charbroil him . . . for these . . .?" he asked, jerking his head at his chest to let her know just what he was talking about.

Her eyes glowed like hot coals, searing him where he sat.  "Aye," she stated flatly.

He started to chuckle, but stopped just as quickly as another thought occurred to him, and he slowly narrowed his gaze.  "You're assuming that I lost, aren't you?"

"Din't ye?"

He snorted indelicately.  "No, I didn't."

Nudging her aside, firmly but gently, he hauled himself off of the sofa and strode stiffly out of the room.  He briefly considered closing himself up in his office, but knowing her, she'd just follow him, so he headed for the stairs, instead.  At the moment, he'd rather sit in his room, alone, than to be subjected to any more of her 'concern' . . .

' _Wa-a-a-ait . . . She thinks we_ lost?'

' _Yes, brainiac, she thinks we lost._ '

' _Well . . .?_ '

' _Well, what?_ '

' _Well, go tell her we fucking won!_ '

He snorted and flopped onto his bed, which only drew a deep grimace when the leg she hadn't discovered the injury on bumped against the mattress, and he sighed.  ' _Oh?  And tell her, what?  That I buried him ten feet down and slammed the earth closed on him?_ '

' _Better than letting her think that we_ lost,' his youkai-voice fumed.

He heard the soft knock on his door, but opted to ignore it, closing his eyes and willing himself to fall asleep as fast as he possibly could.

It didn't work.

He didn't figure that it would.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly as she opened the door and let herself in.  "Now, let me clean you up . . ."

"I'll pass," he grumbled, scooting toward the other side of the bed when she approached.

She sighed and sat down.  "It'll get infected if you're not careful," she pointed out reasonably.

"I'm a _loser_ ," he growled.  "I'd deserve to get infected."

"It looks really bad," she replied.

"For the record, Jessa, no, I didn't lose.  I won.  You know, just for the _record_ . . ."

She nodded slowly.  Whether or not she believed him, he didn't know, but she scooted over and set out the first aid kit once more.

It was true that the abrasion on his chest wasn't nearly as bad as it was, to start with.  Even so, that one, he'd realized in the shower, had actually gone clear down to his ribs but had luckily missed anything too serious, so it didn't surprise him that it wasn't fully healed yet.  To be honest, it likely wouldn't be for a couple of days, at least.  The one on his arm wasn't quite as severe, but the one on his calf was also fairly deep.

She worked in silence for a few minutes, gingerly spraying the antiseptic wash into and around the chest wound, a scowl on her face, her gaze trained on the injury, as she chewed on the side of her bottom lip.  "You . . . You should see a doctor," she finally said, her voice soft, almost scared.  "This is . . . deep . . ."

"It'll be fine," he told her.  "I've had worse."

Her hands stilled for a moment before she resumed her task.  "From your . . . your father . . .?"

He shifted his gaze up to the ceiling, glaring at nothing—or maybe everything . . . "Charity told you about that, too?"

She nodded, jerking her head once in response.  "She said . . . She said you were beaten . . ."

He sighed.  "When otou-san found out that I . . . that I released Manami, that I was feeding information to Sesshoumaru . . . He flogged me—with one of okaa-san's whips that she'd soaked in poison.  Stripped nearly all of the flesh off my back, or so I was told.  I mean, I couldn't rightfully see it."

"But . . . he was your father . . ."

"He never made any bones about the fact that he thought I was a failure from the start.  It . . . It doesn't matter now."

"But—"

"It really doesn't matter now."

Blinking suddenly, he shifted his eyes to the side, just in time to see her dash the back of her hand over her eyes.  "Can I clean your arm?"

He sighed as his irritation melted away in the face of her tears—tears that she was struggling to hide from him—tears that she shed on his behalf, just for him—and he stuck out his arm for her to attend to . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Carl Kingston strode through the sumptuous great room of the immense ducal estate known as Portsmouth.  Decorated in the finest fabrics, the most lavish appointments that money could buy, it was an impressive room—one that pleased him greatly.  The entire estate, every last room, had been painstakingly refurbished over the years, and sometimes, he'd commissioned new pieces to be built, expressly for Portsmouth in an effort to ensure that the estate was on par with some of the more renowned estates in the world, and, he'd been assured, that it even outshone Windsor Palace in opulence . . .

Stepping into the office that was situated just off the great room, Kingston hit the button on the panel next to the door to retrieve his voicemail message.  There was only one.

"Afternoon, Your Grace . . . Just letting you know that we've found evidence that Viscount Knightsboro was recently spotted in Berlin at the Laumerschwann Grande Hotel. According to the concierge, he's going by Reginald Kingston, but he's using one of Hugh's credit cards—the one he acquired without your knowledge.  I'm working on getting visual confirmation, but they checked out of the hotel two days ago.  He mentioned to the bellhop who helped them with their luggage that they were heading toward Spain next . . ."

Breaking into a rare smile, Carl chuckled.  It was a rather nasty sound, full of arrogance.  "Using your middle name . . . As if that's enough to hide from me . . ."

Sparing a moment to pick up an ornately framed photograph from the stand nearby, Carl narrowed his gaze on it: one of the few pictures that existed of his son . . . Taken just after Hugh had graduated from college, the boy looked so much like his mother that it was almost insulting to a man like Carl—a man who wanted to control everything, wanted his mark on everything he touched, including his family.  In the picture, Hughbert stood beside him, slightly behind him, white-blonde hair falling over his pale green eyes—eyes the color of the palest sage, ringed with an emerald hue around the edges.  He supposed it couldn't be helped, given what he was.  Even so, it was at Carl's insistence that there were no images of Hughbert, no images of his mother, either.

Evalysse . . .

She was just a girl when he'd first seen her—when he knew that he had to have her.  Fourteen years old, barely off the boat from the New World, with eyes so serious, so sad, that he'd almost felt sorry for her.  Luckily for him, the girl's guardian—an aunt who was nothing but a common stoat-youkai—had been desperate enough for money to accept the price that he offered in exchange for taking the girl to be his mate.  She was the lone survivor of her kind, of her kin, she'd said quietly on the night that he'd first taken her home.  They were all killed in the course of the Salem Witch Trials.  Evalysse was secreted away by her aunt, raised deep in the hills of Virginia—a wild child, barefoot and beautiful . . .

Setting the picture down again, he stepped around the wide and expansive desk, pressing his fingertips against the identilock that secured the bottom drawer.  Precious few things were kept in the drawer, and he lifted the ancient book carefully, as though he were afraid that it might well crumble to dust if he were too rough with it.

It was the only copy that existed.  Written so long ago that the origins could not be traced, it told of secrets, of legends, of prophecies, some of which were yet to come, some of which had already come to pass.

This was his Bible, his book of power.  As far as he knew, no one alive, save for himself and, to an extent, Hugh, knew of the things this book contained.  Written by the first monks somewhere between the fifth and fourth centuries, B.C., it was copied and transcribed some time later—centuries later—and, while the text was old, outdated, Kingston had made it his life's mission to learn it, to know it, all so that he could read it—this book that had been passed down through his family for ages . . .

He'd come close once before.  He'd almost managed to locate one of the creatures mentioned in the book—the sachi-earth blend youkai—or, at least, the ignorant youkai who were rumored to be capable of producing the tainted offspring.  He almost had them in his grasp, but the couple didn't know the deeper signs, the ones to ensure that they would have the live birth they both wanted and dreaded by turns.  Amaya was well-pregnant at that time, round with child and ripe for the rites that would have ensured the infant's live birth.  Carl had tried to lure them in, tried to make them understand that he could help them, and, all the while, help himself, too . . . But Satoshi, that wretched earth-youkai, he was too afraid, too suspicious, and the resulting earthquake had been enough of a distraction that they had been able to get away . . .

But it was another prophecy culled from the whisper-thin pages of the book that held him enthralled—something as magnificent as it was depraved, as breathtaking as it was insidious . . .

' _And she shall rise from fire, fall to ash, and rise in flame; the burning of the sacred feather will smite the earth and rend the heavens_ . . .'

He chuckled, settling back in his chair, his fingers steepled together before him, reading those words, over and over again.  ' _To smite the earth and rend the heavens . . . and rebuild it in the form that it should have been, all along, and I . . . I shall reign as sovereign . . ._ '

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

" _We found Kyouhei in the basement, tied up, beaten . . . It was . . . It was horrible_ . . ."

" _He flogged me—with one of okaa-san's whips that she'd soaked in poison.  Stripped nearly all of the flesh off my back, or so I was told.  I mean, I couldn't rightfully see it_."

Jessa threw away the used cotton, washed her hands with warm water and soap as she pondered what she knew.  It was . . . It was horrible, wasn't it?  No matter how she looked at it, the end result was always the same: just how in the world had he ever survived in a place like that: with people like that . . .?

' _It's not that hard to understand, Jessa.  People learn what they live, and if they live in such a way, they learn to adapt, too._ '

' _But . . . But he never deserved anything like that.  Those people—his_ parents _. . . They should have loved him—cherished him . . ._ '

' _But you know, there's really nothing you can do about it.  Even so, Ashur's who he is because of everything he's had to deal with, just like you are who you are because of your own life experiences.  You realize that, don't you?_ '

' _Why isn't he broken?  If I were him . . . If I were him, I would be . . ._ '

' _You think he isn't?  Do you, really?  Do you honestly believe that some part of him is just as broken as you'd think he should be, given the circumstances?_ '

She grimaced.  Somehow, the idea of him, of his past . . . Just the thought of it all . . . Why did it hurt her, too . . .?

Glancing in the mirror above the sink, she did a double-take at her own wild eyes, her flushed skin.  Some of it was because of the extent of his injuries—injuries that he swore weren't a big deal, yet she wasn't as convinced.  But he said he'd won the fight, and still, something about that just didn't ring true to her own ears, did it . . .?

' _You know why, Jessa.  It's because he's entirely too calm right now, entirely too relaxed, and the only reason he'd be relaxed is if . . ._ '

Slipping out of the bathroom, she crossed the room, pulling her hair over her shoulder, twisting it around her hands.

Ashur was propped up on the bed, watching television and sipping the glass of water she'd given him, along with a couple Tylenol for pain.  "I don't suppose you'd let me read through those reports I left in the living room?" he asked, scowling slightly at the news headlines for the day.

"They'll be there when you're recovered," she told him.  "It won't hurt you to relax a little, will it?"

He snorted.  "I like having my mind occupied," he grumbled.

"Because that's how you learned to cope . . ."

"What's that?"

She shook her head, managed a small smile.  "Nothing important," she murmured.  "I could . . . I mean, if you wanted me to, I could . . . Could rub your back . . .?"

That got his attention, and he slowly turned to look at her.  "You'd do that?"

She nodded, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear.  "Can you scoot forward?"

He did, managing to move without any sign of discomfort, and she slipped behind him while he leaned forward, bracing himself with his fists against the mattress.  "You're not uncomfortable, are you?"

"No, I'm fine . . .Thanks."

Rubbing his shoulders, she grimaced at the tightness that she hadn't noticed before.  So much stress, so much pressure built up in him . . . She bit her lip when he groaned softly, head pitching forward as she slowed her hands, as she pressed her fingertips into the stiff muscles at the base of his neck.

"This is . . . nice," he murmured, his voice a little foggy, a little far away.

She sighed.  "Ashur?"

"Hmm?"

"You . . . You killed him, didn't you?  The one who came after you . . .?"

"I had to," he admitted quietly.  "He's been here, taken pictures . . . I couldn't let him near Kells or  . . . or you. Not ever."

Leaning forward, she kissed his back, laid her cheek against him as she spread her hands out, kneading the muscles of his shoulders, his upper arms.  "You were protecting us . . ."

He nodded.  "I told you I would."

"You did . . ."

"I didn't tell you about it because I didn't want you to worry."

"I know," she replied softly.  "Just one more thing to add to the weight of everything else you carry around . . ."

He turned his head, craning his neck to peer over his shoulder at her.  "Don't worry, Jessa.  I've got strong shoulders."

She couldn't quite summon the smile that she knew he wanted to see as she sat up so that she could reach the muscles in the center of his back.  "You know, when I was in school, I had no friends—nobody.  Most of the girls . . ." She sighed.  "Most of them just ignored me.  Some of them made fun of my accent or my skin or . . . but others were just . . . mean . . . They tried to bully me, but I ignored them.  Never wanted to let anyone see when they managed to get to me.  It was always my hair," she admitted, almost smiling, mostly because she knew that Ashur liked it well enough.  "Annie, they called me, or ginger or Raggedy Ann . . . Bozo, Merida . . . Most of the names didn't bother me—I mean, how is being called a Disney princess a bad thing?  But sometimes . . . Sometimes I thought, if I had blonde hair or black hair or brown, then they couldn't say such things—except they would have anyway.  If they want to make fun of someone, it doesn't just stop if you change something.  And I tried to keep all of that inside.  Ma . . . She said it was because I never tried to keep my hair neat, but . . . But sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I can't help but to see what they saw, and I wonder . . . If I had tried harder to tell Ma or Da, would I see things differently now . . .?"

He considered that for a moment, then he chuckled softly, quietly—a sound so very different from any of the other versions she'd heard before.   "And you think that if I . . . told you everything, that I'd see things differently?"

She shrugged.  "Maybe."

He sighed.  "Well, I can tell you one thing that I see differently."

"What's that?"

"You," he replied quietly, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Me?"

He nodded.  "You're none of those things, you know.  You're . . . You're beautiful.  I've told you that.  You really ought to believe it."

She sighed.  "It's much easier to believe the bad things."

He didn't reply, but the look on his face . . .

He understood, and he agreed with her . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Join me on Facebook!  Why?  Well, I have a tendency to hang out there most often, and I also have a tendency to post random teasers for this and other stories, regardless of chapter ... Some come on in and hang out with me_!
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> **_Reviewers_ **
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>  ** _MMorg  
>  _** Quinn
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>  ** _AO3  
>  _** ShiroNeko316 ——— minthegreen
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>  ** _Forum  
>  _** Nate Grey ——— lovethedogs
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from Ashur**_ :  
>  _She's gorgeous_ …


	46. Butterflies

' _Jessa!  Lass!  It's time to come inside . . ._ '

 _Head snapping up as she impatiently shoved her hair out of her face, she narrowed her eyes, held her hand up to shield the setting sun.  Across the distance of the summer grass, the whitewashed fence that ran the length of the estate, she saw him standing on a low hill, and she waved before she ducked low against the horse's neck and murmured in his ear.  "C'mon, Derry!  Go!_ "

 _The horse broke into a gallop as she tugged the reins to bring him around.  She almost reached him when he suddenly disappeared_ . . .

 _The world went black as she fell abruptly, landing on her hands and knees in the pervasive dark.  Suddenly, though, light erupted all around her—a circle of torches, and she was in the center_ . . .

 _Pushing herself to her feet, she looked around. Where she stood, it was still pitch black.  "Da . . .?" she called, spinning around, hair flying wildly as she looked for him, searched for him_ . . .

" _Da!" she yelled as the flames burnt out, as the wispy smoke rose high in the air, as the whispers and murmurs surrounded her in their places._   "Da!"

 _And she ran.  She ran, and she ran, calling out to her father, alone in the darkness—the hateful, cold darkness.  Footfalls echoing all around her, confusing her as she kept moving, running straight or moving in circles, she didn't know, didn't care.  She couldn't find him, couldn't find her father, and the farther she ran, the more distant his voice grew_ . . .

 _Skidding to a stop as a brilliant beam of light cut through the darkness, she gasped when she saw him, standing.  He smiled broadly, his red hair, like hers, sticking up, all akimbo, and he held his arms out to her.  Her eyes widened slowly as the haze figure stepped up behind him—a being, all dressed in black, in flowing robes, a dark hood, his eyes peer out from the recesses as pinpoints of chill light.  "Da!" she shriek, but the sound of her voice was lost_.

 _The creature reached toward him, finger outstretched, flecks of decaying skin, falling away as the awful stench surrounded her, engulfing her mind, addling her, and all the while, her father smiled ._ . .

 _Time seemed to slow as the being touched him, hand on her father's shoulder, bony fingers, digging in deep.  She watched in horror as her father's face shifted from one of happiness to an expression of abject terror: dark eyes widening as his eyebrows lifted, lips contorting from a smile to a horrified 'oh' . . . His cheeks stretched as his jaw dropped open, as his eyes bulged wider, wider, wider_ . . .

 _He reached toward her again, his hands grasping nothing, closing around fistfuls of air as Jessa sank to the ground, as she dug her hands into her hair, yanking hard, as her soundless screams echoed in the confines of her own head, unable to look away as her father's body seemed to contort, to swell, and then, in a fissure of light, of flame, he exploded, smacking into her hard with the force of a gale wind, as the laughing figure that was behind him started to glide forward, coming after her_ . . .

"Jessa!"

With a smothered gasp, her eyes flew open, flashing wildly around the darkened room.  The sheer panic that surged through her was enough to wring a high-pitched whimper from her as she struggled against the firm grasp on her arms—not tight enough to hurt her, but enough to send her panic spiraling higher and higher, out of her control . . .  "No!" she screeched, slapping, clawing at the creature before it could try to kill her, too.  " _No!_ "

"Jes- _sa!_ "

It was the sound of his voice that stilled her, the concern in his gaze that she saw, moments before she crashed against him, as a gut-wrenching sob escaped her.  The painful remnants of the nightmare slowly, mercifully, faded, and she squeezed her eyes closed as tightly as she could, hung onto him as tightly as she could, afraid that if she loosened her grip that creature would re-emerge, would touch her with his decaying hand . . .

Ashur sighed, wrapped his arms around her, held her close as he patted her back, as he murmured things that she didn't understand.  His heart was hammering hard against his ribcage, as though she'd frightened him, and maybe she had.  All she knew was that, as close as she was, it wasn't nearly close enough.  The feel of his arms was superficial, barely breaking through the surface of her bone-deep upset, and as hard as he tried to comfort her, it wasn't enough, either . . .

Leaning away, she rose on her knees, smashed her lips against his, uttering a stunted breath as the tears continued to stream down her cheeks.  He caught her with one arm, wrapped around her snugly, holding her tightly against his chest, his other hand cupping her cheek, wiping away her tears with the pad of his thumb, returning her kiss with a fervor of his own.  Her hands grazed over his skin, lingering briefly in the slight indentation where he'd taken the hit from the bison-youkai a few days ago, her fingertips lightly tracing over it in gentle circles a few times before she dropped her hands lower, claws dragging over his bare flesh, savoring the feel of him as the nearly overwhelming need to be a part of him shot through her . . .

Lips clinging to his, slipping away only at the last moment as her head fell back, as his mouth dropped to her throat, nuzzling against the throbbing pulse, stoking a fire that had reignited just under her skin.

He let go of her, let her fall into his lap.  She gasped, moaned, rocked her pelvis against the length of him, both loving and despising the thin silk panties that blocked him as she used her body in a pulsating caress.  He pushed her tee-shirt up, over her sides, along her ribs as she whimpered, lifted her arms, allowing him to tug the shirt up over her head and toss it on the floor as he captured the peak of one puckered nibble in the heat of his mouth.  She groaned, pushing herself up on her knees, inviting him to take more—to take all of her.  The liquid fire that coursed through her, burning under her touch, a gentle incineration of will and propriety, leaving behind the insular need that goaded her, that frothed and roiled through her body . . .

She reached down to touch him, to grasp him through the barrier of his pants.  He growled low, pushed her hand away gently, albeit firmly. "I'm too close . . . If you touch me . . ." he muttered, heaving a deep sigh as he set her away from him, long enough for him to roll off the bed, to kick off his pants.  Biting back the desire to rise up, to reach for him again, Jessa lay back, her hair falling over her in a soft tangle of loose curls as she tossed her panties aside, discarded with the rest of the unnecessary clothes, and when he looked up, he groaned, pausing just long enough to grab a condom out of his nightstand before he fell on her, rolling to the side, grasping a handful of her hair. "I love this," he said, lifting her hair to his lips, rubbing it against his cheek as she stared, mesmerized.  His voice a little harsh, a little rasping, underlined by the uneven breaths that stuttered and sighed like the sweetest sounds in her ears.  Hands shaking, chest heaving, the crazy-mad glow in his gaze . . .

Letting her hair fall through his fingers, he caught the end of one thick lock, staring her in the eyes as he slowly shifted his fingertips—his thumb against his index and middle fingers—splaying the hair between them, staring at her in a fierce sort of way as he very deliberately took the lock of hair and flicked the ends over her nipple.  She gasped, her body reacting with a will of its own, combusting in a million different directions all at once, the burn deep inside her exploding into a fissure of heat and light, and she reached out to grab him, to pull him down to kiss her.  He caught her hands and frowned at her, slammed them down over her head, the force of it absorbed by the pillows beneath her despite the incendiary shock that rattled straight through her.  When she tried to tug them loose, he uttered a short growl, then grabbed a good sized lock of her hair and looped it around her wrists.

"Ashur!" she complained, trying to pull her hands free.  It was impossible, held as they were in the prison of her hair, and when she tugged a little harder, she winced as her hair held tight between her wrists and her scalp.

He looked positively exultant  as he eased her hair out from under her, as he took his time, trailing it down her body, back up again, over and over, butterfly kisses in the dark . . . He very deliberately allowed the silken curls to glide over her hardened nipples, ignoring her whines, her whimpers, her keening, and chuckling softly when she shivered, when her body jerked involuntarily, willing him to stop, to continue, to end the perpetual madness that culminated in a throb, an ache that was deeper than bone, as a near painful resonance built, layer upon layer, one breath at a time . . .

Over and over, he dragged her hair over her body, everywhere that he would have touched with his hands, he touched with her hair instead.  The need deep within her grew hotter, fiercer, and there was still no end in sight despite her whimpers, her protests.  "P-Please," she gasped, unable to articulate much more.  Every last nerve in her body was on high alert; every last one, coiled, ready, and all of it culminated in the precarious tension, as every last cell in her waited, wanted, needed, yearned . . .

"Spread your legs, Jessa," he commanded softly.

It took a minute for her brain to understand his demand, and then a moment longer for her to comply.  She felt the bed move slightly as he repositioned himself.  Forcing her heavy-lidded eyes open, she stared in mute fascination as he nudged her legs apart, as he knelt between them, slowly lifting his gaze, though he didn't move his head, staring deep into her eyes as he took the ends of her hair in one hand, dragged them down over her in a deliciously slow, maddeningly soft, whisper of silken strands and unbroken will, as he opened her with his free hand . . .

With a hoarse cry, she jerked, convulsing  as he continued his relentless assault.  Her body shook, splintered, the nerves firing off, one by one, with every flick of her own hair.  The methodical cadence both goaded her and set her free, but not completely unfettered her.  Teetering so precariously right on that edge between fantasy and reality, he held her, suspended, with deft articulations, with a maddening calm that both infuriated and captivated her by turns.  Ever so close, but not close enough, balancing on the cusp between heaven and complete oblivion . . . He slipped his hand under her, lifted her up, buried his tongue deep within her as he flipped the very tips of her hair over her—against that tiny flicker of skin—again and again and again.

There were no words, no cohesive thought, just a series of explosions triggered so deep down inside her.  The heat of his mouth was relentless as he lapped at her over and over, satisfaction, and yet, the painful emptiness that only he could fill . . . Jessa couldn't tell where one orgasm ended and the next one began, but suddenly, the achingly sweet feel of him sliding into her so deeply, so welcome, and it brought her senses to the breaking point.

He kissed her hard, his tongue invading the recesses of her mouth, capturing her moans, her stuttered breaths, she tasted herself on him, on his lips.  Something in her brain seemed to crack, a primal instinct unleashed, and she locked her ankles around him, using her body to rise against him, only to be pummeled back down against the mattress.  The blur of pleasure spiraled higher, stronger, teetering on the very cusp of the ultimate fall.  Raking his fangs against her throat, his own punctuated breathing mingling with hers, she felt the tightening in his body, the thickening of his cock, the bone-deep spasms of his own release.  He grunted, moaned, gnashed out a loud groan as he exploded deep inside her, as he twitched and jerked and throbbed.

And his last hard stroke pushed her over the edge, into the blackened void of pleasure—sensation so strong that it ripped his name from her lips as she called out to him time and again, lost on the surge of fulfillment so vast, so deep, as she gave herself to him . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He wasn't sure what woke him up just as the first water, grey rays of light filtered through the windows on the far side of the room.  He supposed that it could have been the first trills of the morning birds or the slight rise in the breeze that carried with it, the promise of rain.  It could have easily been number of things, really . . .

He stared to drift back to sleep once more, enjoying the feel of Jessa, her aura, so very close.

And then, the foot fell, and he grunted, eyes flashing wide open.  ' _Kells . . .?_ '

Glancing down, he blinked, unsure if he dared to trust what his eyes told him.  Sure enough, it was Kells, who had ferreted his way in between Ashur and Jessa, which would ordinarily be fine, wouldn't it?  Except . . .

' _Why is he . . . naked . . .?_ '

Yep, he realized with a dazed sort of grimace.  The boy was entirely naked—and entirely sleeping, too—and Ashur sighed, using his foot to pull the duvet up far enough that he could catch it with his fingertips, tugging it up over them all.  On the one hand, he could pick the boy up and put him back in bed—after he wrangled him back into his pajamas.  Then again, he was still half-asleep, and, given the impromptu wakeup call he'd had in the middle of the night, it wasn't that surprising.  Besides, Kells was just a young child, and he figured that it had more to do with the idea of being the same as Daddy and Jessa than it did anything else, and he relented, closing his eyes for a minute, hoping that he could drift back off.

Ten minutes later, he gave up with a shake of his head as he propped himself up on his elbow, breaking into a small grin as he stared at the two others, sleeping in his bed.

' _How the hell can she sleep through that?_ '

Ashur sighed and carefully shifted, trying not to jar Jessa and Kells too much .  She was sleeping very peacefully if the light snoring meant anything at all, her arm safely wrapped around Kells, and he chuckled to himself.  ' _It's not that bad,_ ' he thought.  ' _I've heard worse . . ._ '

' _Bad enough, you know.  And you do realize, don't you, that you're going to have to put up with it for a long, long time, right?_ '

His smile didn't fade as he gently stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles.  ' _I think I could live with that, too . . ._ '

As if in response to his thoughts, she rolled toward him just a little, face smashed against the pillow, and he chuckled again at the distortions as he lifted a handful of her hair to his lips, breathed in the smell of her that clung to the long strands . . .

That hair spilled out around her like a fiery cloud, the tangle of loose curls seeming to extend in every conceivable direction.  There was just something about it that he couldn't quite get enough of, something about it that drove him damn near crazy when he stopped and considered it.  Maybe it was just hair, but he really couldn't remember anyone who affected him in quite the way that she did, not even the brunette he'd met in Madrid once years ago.  He'd seen her across the bar, and there was just something about her . . .

She didn't know Japanese or English very well, and he didn't know much Spanish.  It hadn't mattered at the time as she'd dragged him to her room and kept him up the rest of the night . . .

That woman was as skilled as they came, he'd realized, and yet, as noteworthy as that night had been in his head, it paled in comparison to the times spent with Jessa, didn't it?  With her innocent wonder, her sense of curiosity, with a spirit that hadn't realized that maybe she ought to restrain herself, there was something entirely unsettling about her—something that drove him insane, made him forget himself, forced him to the very edge of his control . . .

' _Give Jessa another . . . ten years.  Then you'd better watch the hell out because the second that girl realizes the power she has over you?  You're done.  Done like dinner, done—done._ '

And yet, that idea?  It didn't bother him in the least, either . . .

' _And Kells . . . He loves her, doesn't he?_ '

' _Of course, he does . . . Why wouldn’t he?_ '

Turning his head to peer over his shoulder at the clock on his nightstand, he sighed.  It was a little after six, which meant he needed to get the child up and moving for the day.

Gently shaking the boy's shoulder, Ashur held his fingers to his lips before he started jabbering.  Then he scooted off the bed and picked him up to head into the bathroom for their morning shower.

"Daddy!  You smell like Jessa!" Kells said when Ashur shut the door and set him on his feet.

"Do I?"

Kells nodded rather happily as he hopped up and down, trying to reach the control panel.  "I wanna smell like Jessa, too!"

Ashur chuckled and tapped the panel.  "Well, I'm not sure that's possible, but . . . Tell me something.  You don't mind that Jessa was in bed with me today, did you?"

The boy cast him a cursory glance and quickly shook his head.  "You were naked, so I got naked, too!  Daddy!  Why doesn't Jessa have a penis?"

Heaving a sigh as he wondered if Kells would forget what he'd just asked if he ignored him, Ashur motioned for Kells to get in the shower.

"I like being naked," Kells went on.  "I can scratch my butt!"

"Better mind your claws if you do that," Ashur reminded him, dousing his hair under the warm flow.  "Scratch too hard, and you'll be sorry . . ."

Kells laughed, slapping his shampoo-covered hands onto his head and scrubbing vigorously.  "Does Jessa have a penis inside?"

"Inside?"

Kells nodded, bright blue eyes gazing up at him in an eerily frank kind of way as bubbles dripped down his cheeks, his tiny nose.  "Yeah, an' it pops out when she has to pee!"

"Uh . . . N-Not all the . . . the time . . ."

' _Did you really just say that?  To your_ son?'

' _. . . I panicked.  Shut up!_ '

"Just some of the time?"

Ashur sighed and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as the visual of that idea occurred to him. It was both highly disturbing, yet somehow, entirely hilarious, too, and he cleared his throat.  "Kells, Jessa is a girl.  Since she's a girl and not a boy like you, she doesn't have a penis.  She has breasts and . . ." He grimaced.  "No . . . penis . . ."

He pondered that for a moment.  Ashur was pretty sure he already knew what was coming next.  "So, how does she go pee?"

"Girls don't need a penis to go pee," he told Kells, wishing that this conversation would die sooner rather than later.  "They pee, just not in the same way that boys do. That's all."

He could see the wheels turning in the boy's head, and he sighed again.  "They have to sit down to pee.  It comes out of their bodies in a different way."

"But how do you know if they're going pee or poop?"

Ashur snorted, squeezing a good amount of baby body wash onto Kells' washcloth and handing it over.  "All right, Kells, we've talked enough about that.   That's just how it works, and you're not supposed to be in the bathroom when anyone else is peeing or pooping except for yourself, so your question is entirely irrelevant."

Kells shrugged as he washed the front of his body and started to set the cloth aside.

"Your back, and your butt, Kells," Ashur reminded him.

The boy giggled but did as he was told before handing the cloth to Ashur to reach the parts of his back that he couldn’t.  "Can I sleep naked every night, Daddy?"

"No," Ashur replied.  "Not if you're going to keep crawling in bed with me."

"I have to wear my jammies to bed wif you?"

Ashur shrugged, shutting off the water and shaking some of the moisture out of his hair.  "Or just stay in your room."

Kells watched his father, and then, he shook himself, too.  He wasn't nearly as effective as Ashur, but that was all right.  Then he grabbed his towel and wrapped up in it, waddling around like a very small Yoda while Ashur got a pair of underpants out of the closet for him.

Kells giggled and scrubbed at his damp head with a dry towel after shimmying his way into his underpants.  "Jessa's beautiful, huh, Daddy?"

Ashur finally smiled as he lifted Kells up and sat him on the sink to brush out his hair.  "She is," he agreed.

"An' she's family, right, Daddy?"

"Y-Yeah . . . Yeah, she is . . ."

"Ms. Tanner said family is the people we love, and we love Jessa."

"We . . . We do," Ashur agreed quietly, realizing that what he'd said was absolutely true . . . When had that happened . . .?  He didn't know, but he didn't think to question it further, either.  "Now, go get dressed," he went on, opening the door as he tucked the end of a towel around his waist.

Kells giggled like a small megalomaniac and took off out of the bathroom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Join me on Facebook!  Why?  Well, I have a tendency to hang out there most often, and I also have a tendency to post random teasers for this and other stories, regardless of chapter ... Some come on in and hang out with me_! 
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Kells_** :  
>  _Naked!_


	47. Bitterness

"It's just . . . I mean . . . I don't know how to tell her that I don't really want children."

Ashur blinked and cocked an eyebrow as he stared at the stable master.  Laith was conducting his weekly maintenance check of all the tack, and Ashur had come out to see if there was anything needed in the stables since he was in the midst of paying bills for the month, anyway, and somehow, the subject of Laith's new mate had come up . . .

"And that's why you haven't told her yet?" Ashur drawled.

Laith shrugged.  "Well, it's not exactly something you can just, out and say, you know—the part about kids."

"You kind of can't just 'out and say' either of those things, if you want my opinion," Ashur muttered, scratching the back of his neck as he wondered just how this was going to pan out.  He had a feeling that it wasn't going to end well . . .

Laith sighed.  "Never should have stuck around her that night. I was . . . was drunk . . . and so was she . . ."

"She . . . She's not your mate?"

Laith shot Ashur a quelling glance.  "Of course she is," he growled.  "I just woulda rather gone about it a little different, is all."

Reclining against the high top of the tack table, Ashur slowly shook his head.  "I don't know, Laith . . . But I do know that something like not wanting kids can be a pretty big deal breaker to a lot of women.  Can I ask you why you don't?"

Laith dropped the bridle he'd been checking over and plopped down on the high stool behind him.  "I like kids, don't get me wrong, and Kells . . . That kid's a riot and a half, but . . . I dunno . . . Seems like my parents did their level best to screw me up six ways from Sunday, and man . . . I don't want it.  I don't wanna be responsible for someone else's fucked up life because I was a shitty dad.  I had a shitty dad, so I'd be a shitty dad.  It's that simple."

"Well . . . Do you have a shitty life now?"

Laith snorted.  "Hell, no . . . I got outta that, and if I have my way, I'll never go back."  He sighed and shrugged nonchalantly.  "To be honest?  Can't say I care much, one way or the other, if I ever see any of them again."

Ashur crossed his arms over his chest and nodded slowly.  "That seems . . . harsh, but I can understand what you're saying.  My parents were pretty . . . shitty, too.  Enough so that I decided that I'd raise Kells differently.  So, basically, everything I know that they did, I do the opposite."

Laith considered that, then chuckled.  "There's that," he allowed.  "Every time I think about it, though, I just . . ." He sighed.  "If my folks found out I had a kid?  They'd show up, just to spite me.  I mean, they leave me be now, but there ain't a doubt in my mind that they know exactly where I am, what I'm doing, all the damn time . . ." Suddenly, he gave a coarse laugh, a hollow sound.  "They're going to be pissed beyond all reason when they find out that I've taken a human mate."

"They have something against humans?  Hanyou?"

Laith shrugged again.  "Not particularly.  They have something against anything that don't fall within their definition of 'pure blood', though."

"Pure blood?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow to emphasize his question.

Laith chuckled.  "Blue bloods . . . One of my father's favorite stories is how he and his family managed to run an entire clan—every last one of 'em—out of South Carolina, just so that they could say that they were the oldest family living there."

"Wow . . ."

He nodded.  "I left home when my dad insisted that I marry this girl, just because she was from the second-oldest-family.  I just . . . I had enough of their shit.  Hopped on the first bus out, and I never looked back."

Ashur shook his head.  "Can't say I blame you for that."

Laith sighed.  "Anyway . . . Any advice on how to tell her?"

Ashur sighed and held out a hand, palm up.  "Good luck," he muttered.

"Thanks, buddy," Laith grumbled, snatching the bridle of the table once more.  Suddenly, though, he stopped, shaking the tack at Ashur as a thoughtful expression surfaced.  "Oh, yeah, meant to mention it the other day . . . Were you aware that the surveyors were out here the other day poking around?"

"Surveyors?"

Laith nodded.  "Saw 'em near the eastern paddock, so I asked, and they said something about needing to reassess property lines?  I dunno, though.  I mean, they didn't have any kind of equipment with 'em—just their phones out, taking pictures."

"What day was that?"

Laith shrugged.  "Uh, a couple days ago?  Guess it would've been Saturday . . ."

"Surveyors that work on Saturday?"

Laith grunted.  "That's what I thought, too.  I meant to tell you, but when I got back up here, Carol asked me to run her in to work.  They called her in early, so it slipped my mind."

"Thanks."

Digging his phone out of his pocket as he strode out of the stable, Ashur wasted no time in looking up the surveyor's office and dialing the number.

"Quebec surveyors' office.  Joyce speaking.  Can I help you?"

"Yeah, hello.  I was told that there were a couple people from your office in the area near where I live?  On Saturday, I was told."

"Hmm . . . Saturday?  Are you sure?"

"Yes, that's what he said."

"I'm sorry, monsieur . . . None of our surveyors work on Saturdays, least of all last Saturday."

"I see . . ."

"Can I help you with anything else?"

Ashur sighed.  "No, thank you."

"Have a nice day."

The call ended, and Ashur frowned as he let himself into the house and headed for his study.  If he weren't suspicious before, he had every reason to be now.  People snooping around his estate?  With their phones out, taking pictures . . . He growled low, settling back in his chair, his gaze darkening with every passing second.  Just what the hell was going on . . .?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"I just . . . I don't know how to tell him that I don't really want kids."

Jessa slowly shook her head.  "Did he say he wants them?  Children?"

Carol shrugged.  "Well, no, but . . . but he's been talking more and more about . . . you know . . . like, long-term stuff . . ."

"Long-term?  But . . . But that's good, isn't it?  I mean, you want long-term, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Carol grumbled, swiping up a tee-shirt off the floor and sniffing it, only to make a face and toss it down the hallway toward the bathroom.  "Ugh, that was gross . . ."

"But you're worried about what he'll say if you tell him you don't want children," Jessa concluded.

Carol nodded.  "As weird as it sounds, some guys really are sticklers on that, and he's such a . . . a down-to-earth type, he probably wants a dozen of them . . ."

Jessa snorted, tossing all the cushions off the sofa into a pile on the floor as she reached for the vacuum hose.  "Well, a dozen babies would be a bit much for any woman, don't you think?  A little _too_ much . . ."

Carol grabbed an armload of various things that needed to be put away while Jessa cleaned the sofa.  It wasn't something that she was especially used to doing, having grown up with a bevy of servants that took care of all the household cleaning.  She'd only started doing it when she'd moved in with Ashur, though she couldn’t say that she minded it.  There was a sort of peaceful feeling that came with the effort, she'd discovered . . .

Shutting off the vacuum, she picked up the pile of cushions and stepped outside to lean them against the fence to air them out before heading inside to tackle the next job.

Carol sighed, bracing the small of her back with her hands as she leaned away.  The movement produced a rather suspicious cracking noise, and Jessa grimaced.  "I tell you, all I've done for the last week is work, work, work . . . but Will mentioned that he's opening another club on the other side of the city and that Jordan—the manager—is going there, so Simone is being promoted from human resources manager to take his spot, which leaves her position open, and he said that he wanted to know if I was interested before he offered the job to someone else or had to advertise to fill it."

"Human resources?"

Carol giggled and waved a hand.  "A fancy way of saying that I'd be in charge of keeping the girls happy, I guess," she replied.  "But I'd also be helping with the hiring and such, so it's a good job."

"Are you going to take it?"

She made a face, but shrugged.  "He hasn't officially offered it to me, but if he does, I think I might . . . I wouldn't have to wait tables anymore, but I might miss the tips . . . Then again, I'm sure that there's some kind of raise involved, too . . ."

"That would be wonderful," Jessa remarked.  "I hope you get it!"

"Me, too . . ."  She rolled her eyes.  "I told Laith about it, and all he asked was whether or not I'd have to work more hours."

Jessa giggled, pulling things off the side table next to the sofa so that she could wipe it down.  "At least he cares."

Sucking in a sharp breath, Carol turned to face her, her expression contorting into a very marked scowl.  "That sounded ominous . . . Something going on with Ashur I should know about?"

Jessa blinked and waved a hand quickly.  "Oh, no, it's nothing like that," she replied.  "Everything's fine."

Carol didn't look like she believed her entirely, but she slowly nodded, taking her time as she carefully deadheaded one of her potted plants.  "I'm a terrible friend—complaining at you when you've got things going on, too . . . I'm sorry, Jess . . . So, tell me, really, you and Ashur working things out?"

"There's nothing to work out," Jessa insisted.  "It's . . . It's good . . ."

"You're sure?"

She shot her friend a bright smile.  It really was going fairly well—at least, on a superficial sort of level.  Ashur even allowed her to sleep in his bed, which had to mean something.  It had honestly surprised her the first time, especially when Kells had crawled into bed with them.  The only real trouble was that she wasn't entirely sure what it did mean . . .

They'd reached an unspoken understanding, though, and maybe that was good enough.  He didn't try to bring up her talk with Hana, and she . . . She tried not to focus on the things that the woman had said, the doubts that still lingered in the back of her mind whenever she stopped to think about it.

She'd managed to create a very cautious contentment, and for the first time since she'd lost her father, she'd started to think that maybe, just maybe, she could belong here, with Kells . . . with Ashur . . .

"You two, I swear," Carol interrupted her musings, "would make the most ridiculously beautiful couple, ever, and if the two of you had babies?  Oh, they'd just be delicious!"

"Babies?" Jessa nearly choked, a very discerning flush breaking over her skin, "I'm only eighteen!  Babies, indeed!"

Carol laughed.  "I didn't mean now, you know!  Besides, you two need to stop pussyfooting around each other first.  Then you can get to the babies."

Jessa snorted, tossing the dusting cloth at Carol.  "I'm going back up to the house now," she grumbled, even more irritated when her friend laughed harder.

"See you later!" she called after her.

Jessa rolled her eyes but flicked her hand over her shoulder as she pulled the door closed behind herself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ashur scowled at the number on the cell phone's caller ID.  ' _Unknown caller_ ,' it said.

He started to flick the screen to take the call, but changed his mind, routing the call through his computer, instead, in an effort to track it before he answered it on his cell.  He wasn't sure why.  Maybe it was just the unsettling business started last week when Johnston had called him out.  In any case, the computer whirred to life, indicating that it was, indeed, trying to locate the origin of the call as he finally swiped his thumb across the screen and lifted the device to his ear.  "Philips."

A breathy chuckle on the other end of the line greeted him.  "Philips . . . Ri-i-i-ight . . . Your new name . . ."

"Who is this?"

"The name's Jorges Mormount, Kyouhei-sama.  You're saying you don't remember me?"

Narrowing his eyes, he had to think about it for a minute before the name actually registered—another of the youkai who had attended the meetings at his father's compound . . . "What do you want?"

Mormount sighed—an exaggerated sound—one that sent Ashur's hackles rising fast.  "I heard through the grapevine that you'd turned up," he explained, his French accent thickening in his words.  "I couldn't believe it, so I thought I'd check into it myself . . . Imagine my surprise when I learn that you're not only fool enough to move here, of all places, but that you've actually got the nerve to take a job as the Zelig's lapdog . . ."

"Are you threatening me?" Ashur demanded, careful to keep his tone even, blank.

"Wouldn't dream of it, lest I end up on the tai-youkai's hit list."

"What do you want?" he repeated.

Mormount laughed.  "I'd like to see you dead, of course, but some answers will do for starters."

"And you assume that I owe you answers?"

"There are an awful lot of people who are interested in knowing exactly what happened at your father's home.  Don't you think it'd be . . . beneficial to grant us some answers?"

Ashur grunted.  "I can't see how it would be, and I can't see how it's any of your business, in any case."

Mormount uttered a low 'mm'.  "I thought that you might prove to be uncooperative," he admitted.  "So, I guess I'll just cut to the chase.  The red head—the one with that gorgeous white horse . . . She your mate, Kyouhei-sama?"

"Jessa," he muttered before he could stop himself.

"Jessa," Mormount repeated.  "Beautiful name!  Makes sense.  Gorgeous girl . . . She ought to have a name that matches."

Gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw ticked, Ashur willed himself to calm down, even as his temper spiked.  "She's just a guest," he heard himself say, proud on some level of the evenness in his tone.  "She's only staying with me as a favor for her cousin—nothing more, nothing less."

Mormount laughed again, and this time, he actually did sound amused.  "Is that so?  You always fuck your friend's cousins?"

Grimacing inwardly, Ashur shot to his feet, stomped around the desk, tapping his knuckles against the hard surface as he tightened his fist hard enough that his claws dug deep into his palms.  "Is there something wrong with having casual sex with someone?"

"So, you're telling me that she means nothing at all to you."

He blinked hard, staring at the computer monitor, the location that was slowly being deciphered.  "She's nothing more than a good fuck," Ashur stated, intentionally inflicting enough boredom into his tone that it sounded almost believable.

"Is that so?  Hmm . . . Well, I'll be happy to take her off of your hands.  I could use a . . . good fuck."

Tamping down the overwhelming desire to smash something to bits, Ashur took a moment, drew a deep, steadying breath.  If he wasn't careful, if Mormount figured out exactly how much she really meant to him, he had very little doubt that the bastard would try to find some way of exploiting her, and if he tried to touch her?  ' _Fucking dead . . ._ '

"You're welcome to try," he made himself say.  Even so, willing himself to play along?  It was almost more than he could stand . . . "Don't know if she'd have you, though.  You're a bit ugly for her tastes, and even then, she's a little clumsy—not really that good."

"Why do I feel that you're lying?"

"No idea. I don't much care, either.  Suppose you tell me now what it is you really want."

"I just thought I'd offer a . . . friendly warning," he replied.  "Watch your back, Kyouhei-sama."

The phone call ended, and he grimaced as the screen cracked under the force that he held onto it.  Wincing as a jagged shard of it embedded itself deep into his hand, he dropped the debris, yanked out the bit, and dropped it on the top of his desk.

Rounding it once more, he flopped back down, tapped the button to retrieve the results of the location scan, only to utter a frustrated growl when the search came back empty.  It must have been made from a throw away cell, and that just figured.

Reaching for the land line, he quickly dialed Ben's number.  He wanted Jorges Mormount's information, and he wanted it now because there was no way— _no way_ —that Ashur was willing to let him live . . .

He didn't see the shadow just outside of the mostly closed door.  So caught up in his own simmering rage, nose filled with the bitter-sweet smell of his own blood, he didn't smell the delicate scent of her tears, either . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _A … good fuck_ …?


	48. Overcast

Struggling to control his anger, Ashur glowered at the blood on his hands—the blood that was doubtlessly covering the telephone receiver—as he waited impatiently for Ben to answer.

"Hey, Ash.  Miss me already?"

"Hardly, you ass," Ashur growled, then he grimaced and sighed.  "I need you to look someone up for me.  I'm going to, too, but the faster I get some answers, the better."

"Okay. Who are we looking into?"

"Jorges Mormount—serpent-youkai—French-Canadian . . . I need to know where the hell he is."

"All right," Ben said, his words drawn out slightly, and Ashur figured that he was writing down what he'd told him.  "How fast is 'faster'?"

"Like, yesterday," Ashur muttered, catching the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he keyed in a search of his own.  "I want to know where he is, what he's doing, right now."

"Jorges Mormount . . . Tell me why that name sounds familiar . . .?" Ben asked.  In the background, he could hear the click of a keyboard.

Ashur grunted, scowling at the screen when the official files opened, giving the man's last known address as Paris, France.  "He was one of the dissidents," he replied.  "He was on that list I gave you."

"Oh, good, then he should be in the system for sure."

"Except the last known address is in France, and it's pretty damn obvious that he's not there now."

"What's going on?"

With a sigh, slowly flexing his fingers of his right hand—the one he'd broken his phone with—Ashur gritted his teeth.  "They've found me," he said, figuring that it was enough of an answer, knowing that Ben would understand.

"Son of a bitch . . ."

Ashur sighed.  "I fought one last week—Ray Johnston.  He won't be a problem anymore, but . . . but he got some . . . some pictures."

"Of Kells?"

Willing back a fresh surge of rage, Ashur licked his lips.  "Of . . . Of Jessa."

Ben grunted.  "Yeah, but . . . just getting a picture of someone on your estate isn't that big of a deal.  I mean, I get it: you don't want her getting caught up in this mess, and—"

"Jorges Mormount knows about her, too," Ashur cut in, unwilling to tell Ben the rest of it—of what the pictures actually were . . .

"Did he threaten her?"

"Yeah . . . Yeah, he did."

"Damn . . ." Ben let out a deep breath, the click of his keyboard coming through the line once more.  "I'm not getting too much different info here, but— _wa-a-a-ait_ . . . Okay, yeah, I've got an address.  Not sure if it's accurate or not, but it's in Canada, about twenty-four-hundred miles away, give or take—the address is Edmonton in Alberta.  I'll send it to you."

"Just tell me," Ashur said.  "I broke my phone."

"Oh, uh, sure . . . Got a pen and paper?"

"Yeah."

"234 Faveur Court, Edmonton, Alberta . . . Do me a favor and grab a new phone before you take off."

"I don't have time, Ben," Ashur replied, dropping the phone into the cradle as he stashed the paper into his pocket and pushed himself to his feet and strode out of the office.  Glancing at the clock, he grimaced.  Kells wasn't due out of school for another couple hours, but Jessa could pick him up.  The real problem was the nearly forty hour trip by car, and even if he ran, it would still take awhile.  He could use his energy form, but it was taxing, and if he planned on fighting, he really couldn't afford to waste that amount of his energy reserves . . .

Stifling a growl, he grabbed his car keys off the table near the door.  "Jessa!" he hollered, jamming his feet into his shoes.

He felt her presence, but she didn't speak.  Standing at the top of the stairs, she stared down at him, her hair falling over her turned face.  "I have to go, so pick up Kells after preschool," he said abruptly.  "I'll be gone a couple days, at least . . ."

"Where?"

"Don't worry about it," he grumbled.

"But—"

"It's not important, okay?  Just . . ." He grimaced, willing himself to calm down, willing himself to remember that she . . . She really wasn't the problem in this equation.  "I'll be home as soon as I can," he said, his tone losing much of its bluster.

"Okay," she said, her voice dropping, almost meek-sounding.

He turned on his heel and strode out of the house, not giving himself a chance to ponder her strange response.  No, the only thing on his mind was locating Jorges Mormount and burying him . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Stumbling into the living room after tucking Kells into bed for the night, Jessa raked a hand through her hair and tried to avoid, looking at the clock since it couldn't be more than half an hour since the last time that she'd checked.

"Still no word from Ashur?"

Letting out a deep breath, she bypassed the sofa, shaking her head, and poured two glasses of wine before heading back and handing one to Devlin.  Settling on the other end of the couch with her feet drawn up before her, she pressed the soles together, letting her knees fall open, cradling the glass of wine between her hands in the diamond void created by her legs.

With every moment that passed, the reasons that she came up with for Ashur's sudden departure were growing.  Most of them were borderline ridiculous, but the ones that stuck in her head were downright frightening to her—everything from an emergency with Ben and Charity to official business for the tai-youkai, both of which were entirely feasible, except that she'd called Charity to fish for answers without actually asking straight-out, only to draw a complete blank.

And then, there were worse thoughts, too . . .

" _She's nothing more than a good fuck . . . and even then, she's a little clumsy—not really that good_ . . ."

Those words, as she's stood outside the office, hand flat against the barely opened door . . .

God, she was stupid—really and truly stupid—stupid and naïve and . . .

' _Stop it!_ ' she told herself sternly, biting back the wash of tears that thickened in her throat, stung at her aching eyelids.  ' _Just . . . Just stop it . . ._ '

" _He was . . . How do you say?  He was my, uh, one love?  But he cannot . . . cannot . . . forget me?_ "

' _Ashur . . . did you go to her . . .?  To . . . To Hana . . .?_ '

She really wasn't anything more to him than a simple distraction, and she . . . she was fool enough to hope . . .

"You know, when you asked me to come over, I didn't realize that I was the one who was going to be doing all the talking," he said, tilting the glass to his lips.  "You're going to tell me what's the matter.  The only thing we have to discuss is how we're going to get there.  As I see it, you can either make me play Twenty Questions to get 'round to it, or you could just skip the fun and games and go right in for the kill.  Your choice."

She couldn't even muster the will to smile at his attempt at levity.  "I . . . I really don't want to talk about it," she muttered.

"You'll feel better if you do," he coaxed.

She sighed, shook her head, scrunching up her shoulders, as if she needed to pull back into herself.  "Let's talk about you," she countered in an attempt to sidetrack her own line of thought, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear, as she struggled to latch onto something—anything—to change the subject.  After all, she'd spent all afternoon, crying over everything that she'd thought, that she'd heard . . . She . . . She didn't feel like repeating that—not right now, anyway . . . Besides, if she allowed herself to do that—if she fell into that pit again . . .

"Me?  I'm dead damn boring, Jess.  I've told you that."

She shook her head stubbornly, willing away the bleaker thoughts that had no answers, not for her.  "You're not, but it seems like we always talk about me—about my problems.  You know, I can't even tell what kind of youkai you are.  What are you?"

He blinked and chuckled and drained his wine glass before setting it on the coffee table.  "Top secret," he deadpanned.  "If I told you, I'd have to kill you, but I like you, so don't make me do that."

She managed a wan smile, letting her temple fall against the back of the sofa.  "It's odd," she went on, almost in a monotone—a very lyrical monotone.  "When I look at other youkai, even in their concealments, I can usually tell what kind they are, but you . . ." She trailed off with a frown, ". . . I . . . I can't tell . . ."

"It makes me mysterious, don't you think?" he asked her, blue eyes sparkling, shining.

"You're not mysterious," she retorted.  "You're an eejit."

He laughed.  "An eejit?  You called me an eejit?"

"If the shoe fits . . ."

He grunted.  "I can't believe you called me that . . . I thought you were better educated than that."

"An eejit is an eejit, regardless of education," she pointed out.

"Touché."  Standing up to refill his glass, he changed his mind and retrieved the bottle, instead.  "Does your mood have something to do with your Ashur?" he asked, careful to inflict more nonchalance than he probably needed.

"He's no' _my_ Ashur!  He's no' my _anythin'!_ " she bit out before she could stop herself.  Pressing her lips closed, her head snapping to the side, staring at the wall, she stubbornly refused to say anything more as she concentrated instead on not tearing up all over again, as she squelched the hurt, the pain, that surged through her yet again.

"The two of you are fighting again," he concluded with a sage nod. "I see."

She sighed.  "It's no' like that, ye ken?  An' I . . . I dun wanna talk aboot it . . ."

"Ah, but you're upset enough to revert to your bloodthirsty Irish self?"  He sighed.  "All right, I'll drop it, but you know I'm here for  you, right?"

"Bloodthirsty?" she echoed, arching an eyebrow as she stared at him.

He nodded.  "All you Irish are a bloodthirsty lot—almost as bloodthirsty as the Scots."

She snorted.  "No one's as bloodthirsty as the Scots."

He shrugged. "Except you Irish . . ."

"Buggar off," she muttered.

"If I did that, then you wouldn't get to hear my pearls of wisdom, now would you?"

"You have no room to talk," she informed him.  "You lot lost your colonies to a bunch of trigger-happy Colonial heathens."

He sighed.  "This . . . is true . . ."

Satisfied that she'd made her point, she slugged back the contents of her glass and held it out to him, wiggling it to ask for a refill.  Hopefully it was enough to sidetrack him away from  the current line of interrogation, and she sighed.  That aside, she really couldn't help but wonder just why he was acting so cagey about his youkai type.  Besides, she didn't want to think about the other stuff anymore, which was the main reason why she'd demanded that Devlin come over, in the first place . . . "So, what kind of youkai are you?"

He grunted.  "Nice try," he told her with a shrug.  "I'll tell you what: I'll drop my questions about Ashur if you'll drop your questions about my heritage."

She considered that and snorted indelicately.  "Fine," she allowed with all the ill-grace that she could muster.  "But what are we going to talk about then?"

He rolled his eyes.  "Anything but those two things, I guess," he said.

"Fine, fine," she muttered.

He sighed, reaching out to steady her hand with the glass in it as he poured.  "Okay . . . So, what else do you want to know?"

Jessa shrugged.  "You said you ran away because your da was trying to arrange your marriage, right?"

He nodded, refilling his glass, too.

"Who?"

"Who, what?"

She rolled her eyes.  "Who did he want you to marry?"

Her question gave him pause for a long moment as a thoughtful scowl surfaced on his features, and then he shrugged.  "I don't know," he replied simply.

"How do you not know?" she challenged.

He snorted, the sound of it caught in the glass he held poised at his lips.  "He didn't say, and I didn't ask. Bad enough that he wanted to see me mated off like that. Who cares?  I'm not about to agree to marry someone I don't know, I've never met, that isn't my mate, and has no chance of ever being.  I've watched my parents muddle through their own loveless marriage.  I'll pass, thank you very much."

"They were unhappy . . ." she mused, more to herself than to him.

He sighed, scrubbing at his head with his right hand, making the already half-spiky tufts stick up just a little bit more.  "Well, that's a stretch. I mean, they weren't _un_ happy.  It's more like they were pleased enough to simply coexist, but Father always did his thing while Mum did hers.  Most of the time, she lived in one of the country estates while Father liked the bustle of London . . ."

She blinked.  "Where did you live?"

He shrugged.  "During most of the year, I had to live with my father.  Tutors and all that . . . During holidays?  I . . . tried to stay with Mum whenever Father would allow it."

"That sounds . . . perfectly awful," she said.

"Not really . . . Father tended to get sick of my face quickly enough—and I might have helped him to reach that realization, too . . ."

Narrowing her gaze, she slowly shook her head.  "What did you do?"

He chuckled.  "Pouted.  Threw tantrums.  Acted the spoiled git.  Worked magnificently—until Mum decided that she wanted to redecorate one of the estates.  I just happened to be in residence at the time, and I suppose that's why he held me responsible—because I _should_ be able to gainsay Mum, just because she's a woman . . . Anyway, she shipped off all of the gloriously hideous antiques that Father liked to keep.  Had a damn fit when he found out.  Banned me from staying with Mum for a couple years, if memory serves . . ."

"Over furniture?"

He nodded.  "Father likes . . . rare and unusual things . . ."

She frowned.  Something in his tone—a certain level of bitter irony—something that Devlin wasn't given to expressing often . . .

It bothered her, didn't it?  It bothered her a lot . . . "Sounds like your father's the eejit," she muttered.

He chuckled again.  "Quite so.  It's exactly as Haviland said: Father's too stuck in the past to bother to live in the present."

"Who's Haviland?"

He seemed surprised by her question, and then he shrugged.  "My sister."

"You have a sister?"

"Yes, but I've not seen her since I was . . . four?  Five?  I just remember the last time I saw her.  That's what she said just before she gave me her puzzle box."

"What kind of puzzle box?"

"Eh, this old thing.  It's made out of gold, but I've never actually been able to open it.  I started to throw it out once.  I was . . . I was so angry with her at the time—angry for disappearing on me . . . I mean, I was eight or so, so I couldn't comprehend just why she'd abscond like that. I . . . I understand it better now, though, so I'm glad I didn't actually get rid of the old thing . . ."

"How old is she?" Jessa asked, setting aside her glass, wrapping her arms around her ankles as she brought her knees up to rest her chin on them.

"I . . . don't rightfully know.  She was a lot older than me, though . . ."

"And your mother hasn't heard from her, either?"

A strange sort of hardness flickered over his face—an expression that she'd never seen before on him.  Something about it sent a distinct shiver down her spine, and she supposed, if she were pressed for a reason why, it would have to be an easy matter of Devlin, who smiled and laughed and made droll commentary . . . Maybe she simply hadn't realized that he had that kind of emotion locked away inside himself . . . "Father paid her to leave."

"What?"

He shrugged.  "He couldn't use her, so he broke ties with her.  That's how he is.  It's not that he's unduly cruel, I guess.  I mean, he didn't have her killed or anything—that I know of.  It's simply that he will discard you once you've outlasted your usefulness to him."

Slowly shaking her head, unable to really wrap her brain around the things that Devlin was telling her, Jessa frowned.  Something about the whole thing struck her as entirely bizarre, wholly unnatural.

He sighed.  "I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking that the entire situation is completely bent, and you're right."  He chuckled softly, casting her an apologetic kind of look.

"The truth isn't nearly as pretty as the illusion, is it?" she murmured.

Standing up, wandering over to grab another bottle of wine out of the wetbar, he chuckled.  "It rarely is, Irish.  That is to say, it's been my experience that it _never_ actually is . . . It's why we dream—because the dreams are so much prettier than the stark, naked facts."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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>  _Okay, but what the hell is he_ …?


	49. Alone

Kells hopped down from his chair and grabbed his plate to throw in the sink before dashing over to the French doors to let himself outside.

Jessa cleared her throat to stop him, peering over the rim of her mug of tea to raise an eyebrow at the exuberant child.  "And just where do you think you're going?" she asked mildly.

He dashed over to her and threw his tiny arms around her waist.  "I wanna go 'splorin'!" he told her, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

She laughed softly and ruffled his hair.  "Do you want me to fill up your canteen?"

He nodded.  "Pwease!"

She stood.  "Okay, then while I do that, put your plate, fork, and cup in the dishwasher like I showed you."

He darted over to do as she'd instructed while she filled the little, bright yellow canteen, complete with the embroidered Power Puppies logo on it with cold water before screwing the white plastic cap back on and snapping the fabric case over it.  "Here you go," she said, handing the canteen to the bouncing child.

He slipped the long strap over his head as she pulled a couple granola bars out of a box and handed those over, too.

"I'll put these in my 'splorer box!" he informed her quite happily.

Jessa nodded.  It was darn near impossible to do anything but smile at the exuberant child.  "Remember that your da doesn't let you go exploring alone any farther than the south paddock," she reminded him, kneeling down to straighten the canteen and the collar of his shirt.

"Okay," Kells agreed, pausing in his bouncing long enough to kiss Jessa's cheek.  Then, with a very loud giggle, he dashed over to the doors and slammed outside in the bright August sunshine.

The smile that he'd left her with faded slowly as she wandered over to the doors, staring outside at the bright, golden-brown head as the lad ran off in search of mystery and adventure.

The first time he'd done so, she'd worried to herself.  Ashur didn't seem to think that there was anything amiss, however, and he'd just told the child not to wander past the paddock, but Jessa couldn't help but think that maybe Kells was a little too young to go off by himself for any length of time.

She sighed, turning away from the window when Kells finally disappeared from sight, trying to ignore the stifling silence of the empty house.

It didn't take long to clean up the few dishes and pan that she'd used to make breakfast.  She'd just finished wiping down the counter when her cell phone rang, and she grabbed it, fumbling around with it, only to grimace to herself when the name popped up on the caller ID.  It wasn't Ashur.  Somehow, she didn't think it would be, anyway . . .

"Hello?" she said, trying not to sound too disappointed as she connected the call.

"Hey, Jessa!  I'm so sorry . . . I meant to call you sooner, but I got held up in California . . . How are you?"

"Oh . . . Fine," she lied, hoping that her cousin didn't hear it in her voice.  Then again, why would she? She hadn't actually been anywhere near Jessa enough to be able to tell . . .

"Nice!  I figured . . . Ashur's a pretty decent guy, so I knew he'd take good care of you.  Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I'm back—at least, until they find something else to send me out on, anyway—and I thought maybe you'd like to come down here?  Hang out with me for a little while?  I mean, as nice as he is, I can't imagine that Ashur's really that much fun, right?  So, how about it?  I'll send you a plane ticket . . ."

"Oh, uh, I-I-I . . . I have to watch Kells, and—"

"Surely he can spare you for a week or two?  You're young, Jessa.  You should be out here, having fun, not squirreled away on some country estate with nothing to do and with only a stodgy old youkai and a kid to keep you company . . ."

"He's hardly stodgy," Jessa muttered.

Myrna laughed.  "It'll be fun!" she promised.  "We'll go clubbing and shopping—introduce you to some people . . . I scored a couple tickets to Zel Roka's concert, too—you like him?"

"H-He's okay . . ."

"Yeah, well, the perks of working for the Zelig," Myrna said.  "Look, I have to run.  I've got a meeting I have to get to, but I'll make the arrangements and send you the itinerary—I'm not taking, 'no' for an answer, all right?"

The phone call ended before Jessa could reply, and she sighed.

' _Maybe it's for the best, Jessa . . . I mean, a little time away—time to think—might be good for you . . ._ '

Her youkai-voice's words were enough to make her wince.

' _You know, though, it is strange that Ashur hasn't called or texted, even just to check on Kells, don't you think?_ '

She stuffed her phone into her pocket as she headed for the French doors, figuring that maybe she should practice to get her mind off of things.  Sure, it was strange that he hadn't bothered to return any of her calls, any of her texts.  Then again, if he were out there with Hana somewhere?  Would he really want the reminder . . .?

' _But why are you so sure that it's Hana? Even if they have a history, you know damn well that she's not in the picture now._ '

And yet, nothing else made any sense, either, did it?

' _Does it really matter?  If they're meant to be—if they're mates . . ._ '

' _Do you honestly believe that?_ '

She frowned as she focused on the torches.  That was the problem, wasn't it?  Somewhere in her heart, she . . . she kind of _did_ believe it . . .

It was so much worse, wasn't it?  When she'd tried to go to sleep last night—while she'd blinked into the dark, stared up at the ceiling as she watched the shadows that so slowly shifted above her—and, all the while, she'd seen it, hadn't she?  Over and over again, different scenarios, the same two people—the things she hadn't wanted to see . . .

And just why did she know— _know_ —that those things were true . . .?  Whether they were happening now, whether they had already happened or had yet to come to pass, it didn't matter—didn't help, didn't offer her any kind of solace in the night, as the tears had come, unbidden . . .

Yet, just as painful, albeit in a totally different way, were the images in her mind of Kells, of his smile and his laughter, as he looked up at _her_ the way that he looked at Jessa now . . . and all the anger, all the resentment . . . and . . .

And Jessa hated herself for that, too . . .

 _That little boy's frown: so sad, so lost . . . "Everybody else has a mommy . . . Nadi and Emmy have a mommy . . . Cherry's their mommy . . ." The confusion that surged in those deep blue eyes—eyes so very like his father's, staring out at her from a face far, far too young to know that kind of melancholy . . . "I don't know why I don't gots no mommy_."

Kells . . . He deserved that—to have a mother as well as his father—one who loved and cherished him, so . . . So how on earth could she justify her indignation?  How could she be so damn selfish when, in the end, Kells mattered so much more, and if Hana was the mother that he needed, that he wanted?  Did she have the right to be sad about it?  Did she have the option of being selfish, of wishing for things that were never hers, to start with . . .?

Closing her eyes for only a moment, she heard the pop, the crackle, as the torches sprang to life.  Opening her eyes, staring at the flames that burned far brighter than they should have, saw them all with a sort of disengaged perception, as though a part of her was still here, and yet, a part of her was already half a world away . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Kells!"

Lifting a hand to shield her eyes against the debris that was being driven by the upsurge in wind, Jessa scanned the landscape for any sign of the child.

She sighed, unable to ignore the trickle of panic that was fast trying to flood the dam of her logical brain.   Contrary to what he'd been told, he wasn't within the set parameters of the area where he was allowed to be.

Glancing down at the shoes in her hand, she bit her lip.

Ashur had told her before that he'd installed a tracker chip into the sole of Kells' left shoe—every pair of his shoes, actually.  When she'd first started feeling uneasy, looking up from the book she'd been reading while lounging on one of the couches in the sunroom, she'd checked the house computer, relieved to see the steady blip of the tracking device.  Then she'd noticed the bright yellow exclamation point that indicated that there was a severe weather alert in effect, and would be till the wee hours of the morning.  Judging from the wind, the way the clouds were rolling in, she didn't have much time to find Kells and to get back to the house before it set in . . .

It had only taken her ten minutes to locate the boy's shoes and socks, laying beside the very small stream that traversed the estate from the pond to the road, but there was no Kells to be seen, and she couldn't find his scent, either . . . Whether he'd waded down the stream or something else entirely, she didn't know, but she broke into a sprint, unsure why she was headed the way she was, but opting to let her instincts guide her . . .

Digging her phone out of her pocket long enough to check the time, she grimaced.  She'd been out, looking for him for almost half an hour.  Stowing the device away once more, she kept moving, calling his name, over and over again.  Just why wasn't he answering?  Where was he, and what was he doing?  It wasn't like him to ignore anyone . . . Even so . . .

"Kells!"

Slowing to a walk, she cast her gaze around once more, muttering curses under her breath at the trees that blocked the way, at the grasses that were just a little too tall.  Biting her lip, she glanced around again.  If she headed right, it would take her to the path that led to the outer boundaries of the estate.  If she headed left, it would take her to the path that led to the pond . . . Would he have gone either of those directions . . .?

A sudden shift in the wind drew a gasp from her as Kells' scent filled her nostrils.  Off to the left?  But why didn't he answer if he were that close . . .?

Dashing over, through the grass, ignoring the prickles of rocks and debris under her bare feet, she had to vault off the ground slightly to avoid tripping over him.

"Kells!" she barked out, dropping to her knees beside him.  Curled on his side, little more than a pitifully tiny heap in the grass, he didn't move, and for one dizzying moment, she wasn't sure if he was even breathing.

Carefully lifting him, turning him, she gasped when she saw the ashen hue of his skin, his adorably pinked cheeks so pale, so sallow . . . Darkened smudges under his eyes, his lips almost bluish . . .  "Kells!" she said again, rubbing his cheek, trying to get him to open his eyes.  He whimpered weakly as she choked back a sob and yanked him against her chest.

Then she noticed the puncture wounds, side by side, on his forearm.  "Oh, my God," she murmured, pushing herself to her feet, shoes lying forgotten in the grass as she turned and sprinted back toward the house, Kells held close to her heart as she ran, as the skies unleashed a torrent of rain, of wind, of lightning and thunder, so close—too close—and she ignored it all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Irish!  Just the girl I was thinking about . . . I have it on the best of authority that they're showing a perfectly awful triple feature tonight of three of the worst horror flicks ever made . . . How about I come over, and we spend the night, ridiculing the terrible and cliché plots while drinking Ashur's liquor and laughing like damn fools?"

"Devlin!  Help me!" Jessa blurted.  "Kells—It's bad, and I can't get him to the hospital!"

"Wait, whoa, slow down.  What's going on?"

She choked out a half-sob.  "Kells," she said once more.  "I don't know—It's a bite, but I don't know, and he won't wake up, and the electricity is out, and—"

"I'll be right there, Irish," he said, checking his pocket for his keys.  "Give me five minutes."

She sniffled, hiccupped.  "Hurry!  My phone's beeping, and I think it's almost de—"

He hung up with a wince as the call abruptly disconnected and ran out the door and over to his car.  On the one hand, maybe he ought to have just sprinted over—it would have been much faster, but if they needed to get Kells help, then he'd need the car . . .

She didn't answer the door when he pounded on it.  Throwing his shoulder against it did nothing at all, and he grunted, pushing himself over the low railing of the porch as he sprinted around to try the back door.  For a moment, he thought maybe she'd left since her car was gone, but he didn't pass her on the road, and he would have.  Luck was with him, however, and the French doors on the patio stood wide open.  She'd probably forgotten to close them in her haste to get Kells inside.

He found them in the living room—she sat on the sofa with the child in her arms, sobbing quietly as she kept rubbing his face, rocking him back and forth, begging him not to die, not to leave her . . .

"We've got to get him to the hospital!" she hissed, her wild gaze landing on him, fires of panic alight in her eyes.

"Let me see him."

"He's going to . . . Devlin, please!"

"Let me see him," he demanded once more, and she choked back a sob as she slowly let him down onto her lap.  Kells' color was terrible—ashen, peaked, sickly, and sallow—his breathing coming in shortened and smothered gasps that echoed in the air with a harsh and bitter edge.  Lifting Kells' arm, he grimaced.  It was as she said: two puncture wounds, each one about the size of the end of a drinking straw and farther apart than a common snake of any kind . . . Whatever had done this . . .

He wasn't going to last a ride to the hospital—not by foot, and certainly not by car.  Even if he did manage to survive that, Devlin knew that there was really nothing that any of the hospitals could do for him, not with a bite wound like that . . . 

There really was no choice to be had, was there?   He grimaced inwardly.

Devlin didn't have to think about it.  Grasping Kells, lifting him from Jessa's arms, despite her efforts to hold onto him—it must have been an instinctive thing, borne of the mother deep inside her—he shook his head at her fiercely.  "Go get the first aid kit and light a fire, Irish," he told her in a tone that left no room for her to argue.

She started to snarl, to warn him off, but stopped herself as she blinked, but grudgingly nodded, sparing just a moment to kiss Kells' temple before dashing out of the room and up the stairs.

He didn't have much time, and he knew it.  He had no idea just what kind of poison was ravaging the boy's tiny body, but he knew instinctively that that's what it was.  Sitting down on the sofa that Jessa had just vacated, he held Kells against his chest, over his heart, lifting his tiny arm, frowning at the puncture wounds that he might have attributed to a snake if they were closer together, but if that were the case, then it had to be a huge snake—nor maybe it wasn't a snake, at all . . .

The thing was, he knew damn well that saving the boy . . . It would be blowing his cover completely.  He'd been warned against doing so from the time he could first comprehend, had known that there were those who would look for him if they knew—if they suspected . . . And yet, there was no choice, was there?  Not a single thing, nothing . . . Because Kells . . .

Closing his eyes, willing himself to calm, Devlin felt the edges of his youki unfurling around him, encapsulating Kells in a hazy wash of white light.  He could feel the poison inside the boy, sizzling under the wash of his youki, evaporating slowly, painfully slowly, rising from the child's body in a murky purplish smoke.  So much venom in such a tiny body . . . Whoever had done this hadn't wanted him to live, had wanted him dead, but who in the world would have done such a thing, and to a child, no less . . .?

Feeling a cold sweat break on his brow, he heard Jessa's gasp as she hurried back into the room, heard the clatter of the first aid kit, hitting the floor.  "Cover . . . your face . . . Irish," he muttered, concentrating on the last lingering traces of venom, but it was caught in the air, and if she breathed it in . . .

After what felt like forever, he released the youki that held Kells, unable to help his own labored breathing, and he reached up, grasped the cloth that Jessa pressed over his mouth and nose.  "Fire," he managed to say.  "It will . . . disburse it . . ."

A moment later, a bright and merry fire was dancing on the hearth, and Jessa dropped to her knees before him, her free hand stroking the child's face as she lowered the cloth she was using to breathe to cover his tiny nose and mouth instead.  "Oh, Kells . . . oh, God . . ." she half-murmured, half-sobbed.  Leaning down to kiss his cheek, her tears falling on his skin that was finally, mercifully, starting to return to a normal shade.  Lifting her tear-stained face to look at him, she sniffled, nostrils quivering, lips trembling,  and she slowly shook her head.  "Dev . . .?"

He smiled weakly at her, letting his hand drop as the cloud of poison rapidly dissipated.  "He'll be fine," Devlin assured her.   "Just . . . Just tired . . ."

She swallowed hard, rose to her feet once more, only to kiss him on the cheek.  "It wasn't . . . wasn't a snake, was it . . .?"

He shook his head as his eyes drifted closed—at least, he thought he did . . .

Suddenly, she gasped in the quiet.  "So, that's . . . That's what you are . . ."

He wanted to answer her—wanted to ask her to keep his secret.  Too bad he was nearly asleep . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _Oh, my God … He's a …_


	50. Twilight

Checking on Kells for what had to be the twentieth time in as many minutes, Jessa carefully adjusted the small blanket that covered his tiny body, still snuggled in Devlin's arms.  He was sleeping, too—probably had exhausted himself, saving Kells' life—something that she'd never, ever forget; something she'd never, ever be able to repay him for, either . . .

Frowning at the boy's arm, she gently ran her fingers over the closing puncture wounds.  It had all happened so fast that she hadn't really gotten a chance to process it at the time, but now, as she thought about it, as she looked at it . . .

It wasn't a snake bite at all, was it?  Or maybe . . . Maybe it was—just not a normal snake . . .

A sudden trill ran up her spine as she turned to glance outside once more.  The skies were so ominous, so dark, that it looked hours later than it really was, and she ran her hands up and down her arms.

It was still out there, wasn't it?

She didn't know how she knew that, but as suddenly as the thought occurred to her, she realized without a doubt that she was right.  It was out there, just out of view, waiting and lurking, ready to strike again—ready to kill the next time.  If it hadn't been for Devlin, Kells . . .

"The hell you'll touch them," she growled under her breath, taking the two long strides to the French doors as she slipped outside.

Blinking as the rain hit her hard, coming down in every conceivable direction, she turned her face away from the flash of lighting that touched down a little too close for comfort.  Taking off at a sprint, her bare feet slipping and sliding on the grass, she tried in vain to wipe the streaming rain from her eyes, tried to smell the lurking menace.

She unfurled her youki, willed it to stretch, to search, to help her locate the threat, her hair slapping in her face, blinding her even more, weighing her down with the excess rain that it absorbed, and in a moment of abject frustration, she grasped it as she ran, hacking through it with her claws, and tossed it behind her, forgotten.

On she ran, ignoring the surges of panic that seemed to rise in her with every strike of lightning, ever crack of thunder.  A voice in the back of her mind told her to go back, to leave it alone, that she wouldn't be nearly enough to defeat this kind of a threat.  For some reason, that sentiment just fed her rage, her anger—anger that had been brewing for days, building, layer upon layer—a righteous indignation that she wasn't enough—not nearly enough—and that she never would be, either . . .

Skidding to a stop in the midst of the field where she'd found Kells, she drew a deep breath, stretched out her youki just a little more, a little wider, praying for something—anything—to go on, to find the one who dared to attack a helpless child.  "If you're here, show yourself," she yelled, "Come out, you bastard!  I'm not a child that you can attack so easily, and you will face _me_ , damn you!"

Holding her hands straight out before her, she unleashed a ball of flame so hot that it sizzled and crackled as the rain poured down, landing a good twenty feet in front of her, dancing in the swirling gale.  It was enough to illuminate the area, dispelling the murky twilight haze that had fallen in the storm.

Shifting her gaze over the area, she stopped, narrowed her gaze.

The eyes staring back at her blinked.

It was a great, huge serpent—its head easily as thick as her body—youkai, definitely, and the stagnant air of its youki seemed to push hers back.  She watched in silence as the serpent rose up, slowly, slowly, swaying side to side, almost as though it were trying to lull her into some kind of trance.  Eyes just a little too golden, a little too yellow around the blackened slits of its pupils, it drew itself up till it stood taller than her.  In silence, she watched as the youkai's form shifted, changed, the rain lending it an eerie sort of distortion as the body thickened, grew wider, as the arms split away.  The length of its body split up the middle as two solid legs formed, but it was the youkai-face that was the most egregious: the serpentine shape, the broad and flattish nose . . . Only the eyes remained the same, narrowing slightly as he broke into a mocking sort of sneer.  "So . . . The girl who is nothing but a passable fuck," he said, his voice a hiss in the wind.  He rumbled out a laugh that blended into the storm, but suddenly, his eyes widened, a look of exaggerated shock contorting his features.  "Oh, I'm sorry . . . You didn't know that's what he thought of you?  Sorry to tell you, sweetheart . . . I heard it straight from the horse's mouth—so to speak."

"You're the one who attacked Kells . . . Did it make you feel good, attacking a three-year-old child?  Was that all you could handle?  You filthy, disgusting bastard . . ."

"Let me guess.  You're here for revenge, right?" he asked, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his rumpled jeans.  "Did he die in your arms, little girl?  Or was he already dead when you found him?  Tell me: how are you going to explain that to dear old Kyouhei-sama, anyway?  Dead on your watch . . ." He chuckled, the sound of it rumbling through her like the thunder.

She gasped when he disappeared, only to reappear a split second later, directly before her, catching her in his arms before she had a chance to retaliate, to get away from him.  Pushing against him struggling to free herself, she gasped and turned her face to the side as his serpent-like forked tongue flicked out, licking her cheek.  She didn't think, didn't hesitate, her body igniting in flames that shot from her very pores, and he grunted, shoving her back as he jumped away from her, shaking his hands to alleviate the burns on his palms.  "Bitch!" he hissed, his smile finally vanishing.

Jessa straightened her back proudly, refusing to give an inch as she ignited her youki close to him, as the balls of flame converged on him.  He saw them coming and pushed out of the way, barely avoiding the impact as the flames erupted in a pillar that shot off into the sky.

He chuckled as the lightning flashed, strobing his face in a ghastly pallor against the warmth of her flames.  "I'm going to enjoy breaking you," he mused.  Then he threw his head back, and she gasped when his body dissolved into a myriad of snakes, venomous and vile, and the swarmed toward her fast—faster than she could react.  Throwing her arms up to block her face, she squeezed her eyes closed as a stunning brilliance shone through her eyelids, as bright as the noon-day summer sun, as she felt the heat—the radiance.  The snakes hissed and uttered the strangest sounds—sounds she didn't realize that they could make, and she opened her eyes, covered her nose with her hands, stared in horror as the snakes struggled to break through the circle of fire she'd created, burning themselves in the process, the acrid stench of their searing flesh twisting her stomach into knots.

All at once, the snakes retreated, slithering away back to the spot where the youkai had been standing, piling together, writhing up, higher and higher, until he stood there once more.  This time, however, he wasn't grinning, looked angrier than she could credit.  Touching his face gingerly—the right side burned so badly his skin looked like it was melting off—he glowered at her, glared at her, his anger, his loathing, a palpable thing.

Throwing his head back, unleashing an ungodly wail, the echoes of the sound waves managed to disrupt the flow of her fire, and she gasped as her flames died away.  Barreling toward her, his laughter still hanging in the air, he reached back, his intention to strike out at her clear.  Catching his fist as it shot forward, she yanked, twisted, and sent him flying neatly over her shoulder.  Trying to spring away from him, she gasped as he caught her ankle, as he brought her down hard, rolling over to pin her against the soggy ground as he grabbed her wrists in one hand and slammed them down hard over her head.  "It's hard to make your flames when you're drenched to the bone, isn't it?" he growled, his gaze taking on a manic sort of light.

"Think again," she ground out, gathering her youki, igniting it around the both of them.

He yowled in pain, his hair, his clothing, catching fire, and she saw it coming before it landed, his drawn-back fist, but she wasn't prepared for the explosion of pain in her eye, in her skull, when he connected.

He shot away from her, dropping to the ground, rolling  fast to put out the flames as she staggered to her feet, unable to see past the gushing flow of tears that streamed down her face from her rapidly swelling eye.

She couldn't see, couldn't think, could barely keep herself on her feet and conscious, but somewhere in the fog of her brain, she heard the tell-tale rattle as he shifted into his youkai-form once more.  She needed to move, needed to do something, needed to get out of the way, but her body wasn't cooperating.  Still too dazed from the punch he'd landed, she struggled to shake off the dizziness that impaired her movements as she forced her good eye open, as she smashed her hands over the other one.  As though in slow-motion, she saw him as he shot forward, slithering through the grass, mouth wide, ready to strike: closer and closer, faster and faster . . .

She grunted out a terse sound, a hopeless kind of noise as he reared back, as his head shot forward so fast that it was little more than a blur.  Closing her eyes, stumbling back in a pathetic attempt to get away, she hit the ground hard, the wind rushing out of her in a gust, stunning her again.  Eye flashing open, she blinked as a blur of motion shot through her limited range of vision, stumbling, falling, a sharp exhalation, rising up once more as a rumble shook the ground, as a pillar of mud and grass and earth closed over the serpent.

"Jessa!  Get up!"

She heard his voice, but she couldn't quite wrap her brain around the idea that he was there, that he was telling her to move.  Struggling to draw breath, she rolled over, pushed herself to her hands and knees, to her feet.

"I can't hold him, damn it!" he yelled.  "Can you hit him?"

"Hit him?" she echoed.

Ashur grunted, hands outstretched as he held the mudslide in place, but it was weakening, crumbling, and when she looked over at him, she realized why: blood, pooling on his shoulder, extending out and down over the fabric of his shirt . . . He'd taken the hit intended for her, and, judging from the look of him, the poison that came with it was spreading fast.

Raising her hands, she gasped, she growled as she summoned the fire, as it shot out of her palms, straight at the earthen mound, the heat of it engulfing it, solidifying it in a matter of moments.

Letting his hands drop as he panted for breath, he turned to face her, his expression foreboding despite the pallor that was fast washing into his features.  He looked like he wanted to say something, but he turned instead to look at the ugly mound of dirt.  Then he lifted his foot, let it fall hard.  The mound sank back into the field, leaving no trace behind that it had been there at all.  The serpent-youkai was gone, too, and Jessa realized that it was finally, mercifully, over . . .

"I'm  . . . I'm sorry," he said, stumbling toward, her.  "I . . . I shouldn't have . . . left . . ."

"You're poisoned," she said, lurching forward to intercept him, ducking under his arm, holding  him with one arm around his back as the ball of flame she'd used to illuminate the field sputtered out.  "We've got to get you back . . . Devlin can help you . . ."

"Your . . . face . . ." Ashur murmured, reaching up, unsteady fingers, gently touching her cheek.  "Your . . . hair . . ."

"You've got to help me," she insisted, ignoring  his other comments.  "I can't carry you . . ."

He managed another couple steps before stumbling over his own feet, crashing down in the grass as Jessa screamed his name . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"I can't . . . not yet . . . need to rest a little more . . . Dispelled enough . . . won't die . . ."

Ashur groaned and turned his head, just before he heaved.  Gentle but capable hands turned him onto his side, careful not to jar his shoulder too much, and he managed to open his eyes, only to find Devlin frowning down at him—at least, he thought it was Devlin . . . It was him, all right, but for reasons he didn't understand, he had pale hair—almost white—and very, very pale green eyes . . .

Devlin sighed and managed a wan smile.  "Go on back to sleep.  We'll get you cleaned up," he said.  "It's going to be pretty rough for you tonight."

"Jessa," he managed to rasp out, eyes slipping closed of their own accord.

"She's here," Devlin replied.  "Checking on Kells, but she'll be right back."

"Kells . . .?"

Devlin sighed—at least, Ashur thought he did.  "He was . . . was attacked this afternoon—Don't worry, he's fine now, just sleeping," he blurted when Ashur tried to get up.  Devlin grimaced and pulled the blanket out from under him since he was off the sofa for the moment.  Then he hurriedly replace it with a fresh, clean one before pushing Ashur back down again.  "You're going to spread the poison if you keep moving about," he told him.  "Lie still and get some more rest.  We'll deal with that in the morning."

Ashur tried to shake his head.  There were too many questions that he wanted to ask, and yet, he couldn't quite focus enough to form any of them . . .

Scooping up the soiled blanket, Devlin stalked out of the room, almost colliding with Jessa, who quickly stepped back to allow him to pass before  hurrying over to check on Ashur.

He was burning up, though his coloring was a bit better.  Devlin had only been able to extract a trace amount of the poison, he'd said.  He had used too much energy, drawing out the poison in Kells.  He'd be better, he said, in the morning.  Then he'd properly heal Ashur, too . . .

She started to reach down, to brush the bangs out of Ashur's face.  Something stopped her, though, and she let her hand fall away.  She knew, didn't she?  Even if she wanted to—even if she felt that she had the right—she couldn't . . . She was the one who had let Kells go out to play alone.  If she hadn't . . . And yes, he'd be fine, but it had been entirely too close—close enough that the simple memory of those minutes when she'd found him, when she'd brought him up to the house . . .

She shivered.  Ashur . . . When she told him the truth?  He'd never, ever forgive her, not when she'd come so close to losing him . . . and she really couldn't fault him for that, not when she couldn't forgive herself, either . . .

Letting out a deep breath, she turned around, wandered over to stare out into the darkness of the night.  The rain was still falling—a steady curtain of it—but the wind had died down, leaving behind a gentle but rhythmic fall, something wholly cleansing, vastly reassuring . . .

Even so, the doubt remained, gnawed at her like a dead and festering thing.  She sighed.  She hadn't even been able to take care of that man alone, and she'd wanted to—desperately wanted to . . .

She grimaced, staring dully at her reflection in the pane of glass.  Half of her face was hidden in shadows, which was just as well.  She'd already seen the damage in the bathroom mirror, and that was more than enough. The other half of her face was illuminated by the flickering flames on the hearth, and her grimace darkened wryly as she grasped a tufty end of her hair and held it out.

How pathetic was she, really?  How truly, utterly pathetic . . .?  Standing there, staring at herself, wondering just why it was . . . why she couldn't manage to stand on her own two feet, relying on everyone else to fix things for her, didn't she?  Forcing herself upon Ashur in every way imaginable . . .

Wincing as the unspoken implications of that lone statement struck home, she felt it, didn't she?  The shame that came with the understanding that she . . .

It was all her fault, wasn't it?  Everything, from the moment she'd stepped into Ashur's townhouse in the city . . . All those tiny moments that had seemed so very insignificant, and somehow, it had all led her here, to this.  She'd poked him and prodded him, dragged him out of every single thing that he found to be safe, secure, forcing him into situations that he wasn't familiar with, that he didn't know, but she did—sure, she did, and she . . .

Swallowing hard as she forced herself to admit it, willed herself to acknowledge it, if only within the confines of her mind, she choked back a sob that had gotten lodged in her throat, tried to ignore the bitter sting of tears behind her eyelids, creating a dull throbbing in her swollen eye that was a welcome ache.  She'd all but dragged him into her bed, too, hadn't she?  Pushed him past his own control and despite the reservations that she was already well aware of . . . It was her, all her, and she . . .

The flash of Kells' ashen face flickered to life in her mind, and she smashed her fist against her lips to stave back the sob that very nearly escaped.  She ruined everything she touched, didn't she?  First her parents, and now . . .

Digging her phone out of her pocket before she could talk herself out of it, she scrolled through the contacts, located the one she wanted, firing off a text before she could stop to think about it, before she allowed her heart to get in the way of what she ultimately knew she had to do, if not for herself, than for Kells . . . for Ashur . . .

' _I thought about it, and it sounds great!  The sooner, the better, if possible_ ,' she keyed in, hitting, 'send' before she could stop herself.  A second later the notification popped up on the screen.  ' _Text sent: Myrna Loy_.'

Then she dropped the phone back into her pocket, and she leaned her forehead against the door, closing her eyes and wishing that she could turn off her heart as easily . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** monsterkittie ——— deme ——— minthegreen ——— Okmeamithinknow
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** lovethedogs ——— lianned88 ——— Crow
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _It'll be better this way … won't it_ …?


	51. Delirium

_Scowling as he caught the phone receiver between his shoulder and his ear, Ashur inserted his credit card for a few seconds, then pulled it free before dialing the number, grimacing as the traffic, heavy on the highway less than fifty feet from where he stood at a payphone in the far corner of the gas station parking lot_.

" _Philips_."

" _Ben, it's me.  I'm about midway to Edmonton.  Have you heard anything else?_ "

 _Ben grunted.  "No, actually, but I did call Larry Rowland, and_ —"

" _Larry Rowland?_ "

" _He's one of Cain's top hunters," Ben clarified.  "He lives up that way.  Anyway I sent him out there to that address.  Turns out there's nothing there.  It's an empty lot_ . . ."

" _Son of a bitch_ . . ."

 _Ben sighed.  "Anyway, then I called Myrna, who called an acquaintance of hers—Attean Masta—and she asked him if he could check around, see if anyone knows this guy—anything—and he told her that he was spotted in a club in Quebec City with one Ray Johnston, buffalo-youkai_."

" _When?  When were they spotted?" Ashur demanded_.

" _A few days ago," Ben replied.  "If you'd gotten yourself another phone_ —"

" _Spare me the lectures, Ben," he growled.  "Damn it_ . . ."

 _Hanging up the phone, he ran back to his car_ . . .

Uttering a low groan, Ashur slowly opened his eyes.  On the one hand, he still felt ridiculously tired, like every bit of his energy had been depleted, all in one fell swoop.  But he also didn't feel as though he was going to puke, either, and, aside from the exhaustion, he really couldn't say he felt that bad, at all . . . Still, he couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd felt so entirely drained . . .

Shifting his gaze to the side seemed to take an extraordinary amount of effort, but the sight of Jessa, huddling in an overstuffed chair, was enough to reassure him.  Curled into one side of the chair, her head leaning against the high back, hair falling around her in a glorious disarray, feet drawn up, tucked into the corner against the far arm of the chair, she sat in much the same way as she might if he held her, cuddled against his chest.  She was sleeping, but from this side, he couldn't see her other eye where she'd taken that hit, either.  For a brief moment, he considered, reaching over, waking her, but in the end, he couldn't do it—didn't have the energy nor the heart to wake her . . .

He tried to smile as he watched her sleep, as he drew from the sense of calm that surrounded her in those moments.  As weary as he was, the idea of sleep just wasn't as appealing as it should have been.  As the light that glowed outside the French doors filled the room, as she huddled just a little closer to herself, he let out a deep breath, wishing that he had the strength to reach out for her, to pull her over onto the bed, into his arms, and knowing that he simply did not.

Letting his eyes drift closed, he was almost asleep when a sudden tremor in the bed beside him made him force his eyes open again.  Kells huddled up close against his side, and Ashur managed a wan smile.  Just as quickly as the smile came, though, it faded when he saw the two marks still marring the child's forearm—fang marks . . . Running his thumb over the slight indentations, he frowned as he pulled the child a little closer, a little more securely against him.  ' _Kells . . . He was . . .? But . . ._ '

And yet, even formulating that much of a coherent thought brought on another wave of exhaustion, too, and even as he thought that he wanted to ask Jessa about that, he could feel himself, drifting back to sleep . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 _The skies were a strange, sickly greenish gray, even with the night that was fast approaching, and yet, the darkness held a hint of the offish shade, a hint of something foul, clinging to his skin, closer than the rain, as he dashed toward the porch, up the steps, only to stop abruptly.  Eyes flaring wide in the hazy, stingy light of the waning day, something deep down made him turn, made him vault over the railing, goaded him into a sprint as he rounded the mansion, as he tore off toward the open fields beyond the house_.

 _He didn't have time to stop, to think about where he was going.  A voice in his head had somehow taken over, and that voice_. . . 'Jessa . . .'

 _Shaking his sodden hair out of his eyes, he dashed a soaked sleeve over his eyes to clear his vision, even if it was only for a moment.  Every instinct in his body was screaming at him—literally, screaming—that he needed to hurry, that he had to move faster . . . It didn't matter how he knew, didn't matter what he told himself, what he thought.  The overwhelming sense that she was in trouble, that she needed him, was just too much to ignore_.

 _He never should have left her, even if he thought that was he was doing ultimately was for her—protecting her from the threat Jorges Mormount posed, and wasn't the damn joke on him . . .?  Lips curling back in a snarl, he pushed himself harder, sprinting through the field so fast that his feet barely touched the grass. If Mormount as much as touched a single hair on Jessa's head?_  'Dead . . . Fucking dead . . .'

 _Breaking over the rise of a hill, he stopped short, just for a moment, long enough to gasp, to growl at the scene laid out before him: the staggering illumination of Jessa's flame didn't reach far, and the rain hammering down only made things worse.  Unable to see more than the shaky and wavering images of the girl and the serpent youkai, he uttered a curse, dashed forward once more_. . .

 _He barely had time to react as Jessa pulled herself off of the ground, staggering, unsteady, as the serpent-youkai reared back to strike.  Hurling himself forward, praying he'd made it in time, he grunted as his body jerked to an abrupt halt, as the flash of nearly blinding pain erupted in his shoulder, near the nape of his neck, as the cold, cold rain was tempered by the hot gush of blood, of the brackish poison that hit him a second later, and he raised his hands, focusing on the surge of youki he sent straight down into the earth at his feet_ . . .

 _A deep and ominous rumble shook the ground in response to his command, a pillar of mud and grass and earth shot up, closing over the serpent.  Even as it obeyed his will, he could feel his control slipping.  Already, a numbness was settling into his fingers, his hands, his arms, and he knew damn well that he didn't have nearly enough time or control to finish this.  "Jessa!  Get up!" he barked without turning his head, without daring to look at her, lest the last of his control falter_.

 _She didn't answer him right away, and despite his resolve not to, he glanced over his shoulder, just in time to see her roll over, pushing herself to her hands and knees, to her feet_.

" _I can't hold him, damn it!" he yelled, shifting his attention back to Jorges' immobilized body.  "Can you hit him?_ "

" _Hit him?" she echoed, her voice a little shaky, a little disoriented_.

 _A beam of fire shot out of her hands, hitting the muddy pile in a blast of flame and smoke, her fire evaporating all the water, only to leave behind a solid earth pile of condensed rock_.

 _Letting his hands drop as he panted for breath, he turned to face her, his expression foreboding despite the pallor that was fast washing into his features.  For one quick moment, he started to growl, but he thought better of it after catching the almost stricken expression on her face, and he let it go turning instead to look at the ugly mound of congealed rock.  Then he lifted his foot, let it fall hard.  The mound sank back into the field, leaving no trace behind that it had been there at all.  The serpent-youkai was gone, his body crumbling with the rest of the rapidly decaying rock_ . . .

" _I'm  . . . I'm sorry," he said, stumbling toward her.  "I . . . I shouldn't have . . . left_ . . ."

" _You're poisoned," she said, lurching forward to intercept him, ducking under his arm, holding  him with one arm around his back as the ball of flame she'd used to illuminate the field sputtered out.  "We've got to get you back . . . Devlin can help you_. . ."

" _Your . . . face . . ." he murmured, narrowing his unsteady gaze on her as he reached up, fingers unsteady, gently touched her cheek.  "Your . . . hair_. . ."

" _You've got to help me," she insisted, shaking her head as she winced.  "I can't carry you_ . . ."

 _He managed another couple steps before stumbling over his own feet, crashing down in the grass as Jessa screamed his name_ . . .

Ashur opened his eyes, yawning in the quiet of the darkened bedroom before glancing at the clock and heaving a sigh.  Nearly 5:30 in the morning . . .

Pushing himself up with a grimace as his muscles protested the movement, he swung his legs off of the bed and almost gingerly got to his feet.

If he'd been out of bed since he'd been poisoned, he didn't remember, but he figured that the stiffness in his body was from inactivity.  To be honest, he had no idea, just how long he'd been sleeping, and he vaguely remembered, waking up long enough to see Jessa in the chair beside the bed and Kells in the bed with him . . .

Making a face as he stumbled off to the bathroom, letting Kells sleep since he didn't know how much rest the child had gotten, either, he sighed, grimacing as he ran his hand through his hair, only to discover that the entire length of it was ratted, matted and entirely bedraggled . . .

And he didn't look much better, either, he realized as he blinked and stared at his reflection.  Cheeks sunken and hollow, eyes almost recessed in their sockets . . . His shoulder where the miscreant had bitten him was still all black and bluish, even though it really didn't hurt.  Even his chest looked a little diminished, and not for the first time, he had to wonder just how long he'd been out.  All in all, he looked like hell warmed over, and that just figured, he thought with a heavy sigh.

Slapping the wall panel to start the flow of water, he didn't bother to wait for it to warm as he stepped under the tap and hissed out a sharp breath when the cold flow hit him full-force.

Slathering on the conditioner in an effort to untangle his hair before he tried to wash it, he was rather surprised that he managed to untangle most of it with just his fingers easily enough.  He supposed that it hadn't helped that he'd spent two days, driving without bothering to stop at a hotel, and therefore, had gone without a shower, too, and then the night of the storm, and who knew how much tossing and turning he'd done during the bulk of his fever from that damned Jorges Mormount's poison . . .

But the thought of the poison stopped him for a moment as he rinsed the conditioner from his hair.  He was poisoned, wasn't he?  He distinctly remembered it . . . When he'd leapt in front of Jessa, when he'd taken the hit meant for her . . . He'd felt the poison, absolutely—a ridiculous amount of it, he'd thought . . .

' _So . . . if I had that much poison in me, just how were they able to counter it?_ '

' _Wouldn't it be better to ask 'who'?_ '

Taking his time as he worked the shampoo into a thick lather, Ashur frowned at his youkai's somewhat blunt redirection.  ' _Who . . .?_ '

' _It was youkai poison, Kyouhei . . . That kind of stuff cannot be treated at a regular hospital—not even a youkai hospital, unless they're dead damn lucky and have someone like Charity around, who can create an anti-venom with relative ease, but you remember, don't you?  Even when you were treated for the poison your mother created, you felt like hell for . . . weeks, really . . . It took that long just to chase all of it out of your system, and you know, right now, we feel pretty damn good, don't we . . .?_ '

' _All right, then, why don't you just tell me what you know instead of making me play a round of Twenty-freaking-Questions?_ '

' _That's just it.  I really don't know anything more than you do._ '

He frowned as he tipped his head back, rinsing the shampoo from his hair.  ' _What do you mean?  You're normally conscious, even if I'm not._ '

His youkai grunted.  ' _Not this time.  Something about that venom smacked me, too.  I just shook off the grogginess myself last night . . ._ '

He made a face.  ' _You're absolutely useless, aren't you?_ '

' _Go to hell, Kyouhei-_ sama _. . . Anyway, if you think about it, it's pretty obvious that we weren't ever taken to a hospital or we'd probably still be there now, which means we were healed here, and that'd be fine, but the only ones here are Kells—we know he couldn't have done that—and Jessa—and she couldn’t have, either.  Carol's human, so it most certainly wasn't her, Laith's mononoke, and they're not known to be able to heal, either.  That really only leaves Devlin . . . Come to think of it, just what the hell kind of youkai is he, anyway . . .?_ '

The sudden flash of Devlin, looking exhausted as he leaned over him, shot through his head, and he frowned.  At least, the was pretty sure it was Devlin, but why had he looked so damn different . . .?

It could have easily been his brain playing tricks on him, he supposed.  Even so, why did he think that what he remembered was absolutely true . . .?

He hurried through the rest of his shower before stepping out, smashing his hand against the wall panel to stop the flow.  By the time he'd dried off and wrapped a towel loosely around his hips, he was somewhat relieved to see that he looked quite a bit more like himself, though he could still use a few good meals, too . . .

Stepping out of the bathroom as he dragged a brush through his hair, he stopped abruptly when he saw Jessa, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand tousling Kells' hair as the child continued to sleep.

She seemed almost reluctant as she slowly lifted her gaze—not her head, just her eyes.  Shadows lingered in the depths, the shadows, and she seemed almost nervous as the seconds ticked away.

Her hair was grown back—not surprising, although he'd be lying if he said that it wasn't a relief to see—and her face showed no sign of the swelling he'd noticed.  She looked good—damn good—and the only thing that kept him from stepping over, from dragging her into his arms, was that lingering wariness that dug at him, even if he wasn't sure why it was there, in the first place . . .

"You're up," she said finally, breaking the silence in a slightly husky, almost guarded, tone.  "How are you?"

"I'm good," he replied.  "Fine, actually . . . And you?"

"I'm . . . I'm okay," she said quietly.

"How long was I out of it?"

"Four days," she replied.  "You've just been sleeping mostly . . ."

He nodded.

She shrugged, glancing at Kells for a moment before hopping to her feet and skittering to the side as his frown deepened.  "I-I-It's my fault," she stammered quickly, yanking her hair over her shoulder, twisting it hard, twisting it fast.  "He wanted to go exploring, and . . . and I let him . . . a-a-a-alone . . ."

Suddenly, Ashur understood.  "That bastard . . . He attacked Kells first, didn't he?"

"I went after him—I wanted to make him pay . . . Kells is just a child, and he'd never hurt anyone, but I . . ." She flinched, slapping her arms over her stomach in a wholly protective kind of way as her youki snapped in close to her—protecting her, he supposed . . . "But I wasn't . . . wasn't strong enough . . . If you hadn't . . ."

Letting out a deep breath, Ashur took the three strides to reach her, to pull her against his chest, to tuck her head under his chin, against his heart, as he laid his cheek on her hair.  "I'm sorry I wasn't here," he told her.  "None of this was your fault, you know.  It's okay . . . It's okay . . ."

She choked back a sob, her body resisting the comfort he tried to offer, almost as though she thought she didn't deserve it.  "I'm so, so sorry," she rasped out, her voice muffled by his chest.

"Don't apologize, all right?  Everything's . . . Everything's fine . . ."

She pushed against his chest until he let his arms drop, stumbling back before she managed to catch herself.  "Myrna . . . She invited me to go stay with her for . . . for awhile," she said, and this time, she didn't meet his gaze.  "She made all the arrangements, and . . . and I . . . I leave tomorrow . . ."

He blinked in surprise at her abrupt announcement, letting out a deep breath as he tried to make sense of it.  Going to stay with Myrna?  He gritted his teeth since he couldn't really argue with that, not when Myrna was her cousin.  Even so, the idea of her leaving for any length of time just didn't sit well with him, especially not right now . . .

' _I don't know, Kyouhei . . . Maybe it's better this way.  I mean, you want to get some answers, don't you?  And it'd be easier to get those answers if she's not here . . . I mean, you know as well as I do that Devlin's one of her best friends.  How do you think she'd like it if we confronted him with her here?_ '

As true as that might be, he still didn't like the idea of her being away.  Then again, it wasn't like it would be that long, and it most certainly wouldn't be forever, in any case.

"How long are you going for?" he asked, turning to grab some clothes out of the closet, careful to keep his tone amiable.

She sighed.  "She said a couple weeks, but—"

"Sounds like fun . . . Sounds like something you need right now."

"Y . . . Yeah," she agreed slowly, almost cautiously.  "I'll, uh . . . I'll go make some breakfast if you're hungry?"

"That'd be great, thanks," he replied.  "I'm starving . . ."

She hurried out of the room, and he sighed, dropping the pretense that he was pleased with her decision, even if he had no intention of trying to change her mind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Mononoke:_** _creature (animal) spirit_.
> 
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> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
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>  ** _MMorg  
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>  ** _AO3  
> _** Okmeamithinknow ——— Amanda+Gauger ——— monsterkittie ——— minthegreen ——— bugohicawa ——— ShiroNeko316
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _Now, for some answers_ …


	52. Desperation

"Are you sure that this is what you need to do?  I mean, a visit?  Okay, I can understand that.  A bit of time away might well do you both some good.  But—"

Letting out a deep breath to cut him off as she packed her pitiful amount of belongings into a good-sized duffle bag, Jessa spared a moment to cast Devlin a quelling glance.  "We've been over this, Dev," she said, her tone determined, almost brusque.  "It's the only thing I _can_ do—and really, it's for the best."

He snorted indelicately.  "No, it's what you _think_ is the only thing you can do, when, in fact, you could be very, very wrong—and probably are."

"I'm not," she growled, her tone completely at odds with the way she carefully packed the clothing that Myrna had paid for in the beginning.  He look he shot her said otherwise, and she sighed.  "All right, if you're so smart.  Why don't you tell me what you really think?"

"You sure you want to hear it?"

"Not really, but go on," she grumbled, gesturing for him to continue as she pulled a few more things out of a drawer.

Crossing his arms over his chest as he scowled at her and slowly shook his head.  "What I _think_ is that you're being perfectly pig-headed for no good reason," he countered, arching an eyebrow when she shot him another darkened look.  "I _think_ that  you've come up with something in that beautiful brain of yours that's nothing but fiction, that you're running off without even trying to talk to him—to see what he has to say—which is entirely ludicrous, given that you've done nothing but make assumptions based on what you want to see and not on what might really be there."

"Don't spare my feelings, Dev," she muttered, cheeks pinking as she slipped the rest of her clothing into the bag.

He grunted.  "If I stood here, telling you things in a nice and pretty way, you're just going to ignore me—which you're probably doing anyway, aren't you?"

Pressing her palm against her forehead, Jessa heaved a sigh and wandered over to the French doors.  "It's not like that," she told him, her voice dropping to nearly a whisper.  "You didn't . . . didn't hear the things he said—awful things—vile things," she admitted.  "He . . . He didn't know I was there, didn't know I heard him."  Swallowing hard, trying to forget those terrible, hurtful things, she gave the tiniest shrug before stepping over to open the doors, to close her eyes as she dragged in a few lungfuls of the clean air.  "The things he said; they were his true feelings, Dev . . . He had no reason to lie."

"I might not know him as well as I know you or as well as you think you know him, but you have to know him well enough to realize that Ashur isn't the kind to say hurtful things—not without a reason, Irish."

"Which is why he never said those things to me," she countered quietly.  "Anyway, it's better this way.  Besides . . . Even if he . . . I can't even be trusted with Kells, not really.  I . . . I let him go off by himself, I . . . I couldn't  . . . I couldn't protect him . . ."

Devlin sighed quietly, more of an expulsion of breath than an actual expression.  A moment later, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, drawing her back against his chest, and there was nothing at all in it—nothing but the desire to comfort a friend.  "You know, don't you?  It won't matter where you go or what you do or . . . or how long it is before I see you again, you're . . . you're the little sister I never had, and . . . and I love you, Irish."

Hands reaching up, wrapping over his forearms, as though it was the only thing she could do, Jessa turned her head, far enough to rest her cheek against his chest as she blinked back a wash of tears.  "Thank you."

He grunted.  "I'm going to talk to him—tell him what he's doing to you—see if it matters to him because I think it will—"

"You won't," she insisted, eyes opening, burning with the fire of conviction that added a fierce brightness to her crimson gaze as she stepped away from him.  "You promise me you won't."

"I'm not promising that!  I—"

"—Have no say in it!" she cut in.  "Devlin, _please_ . . . I just . . ."  She grimaced.  "I just want to put all of this behind me, and if you say anything, he'd ask me to stay, not because he wants me to stay, but because he'd feel bad.  That's how he is, and . . . and I don't want that."

He heaved a sigh, still looking anything, but happy about it.  He didn't promise, but then, Jessa knew he would honor her wishes, too.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"So, that's two who have come after you," Cain Zelig remarked as he sat back in his chair and reached into the breast pocket of his nondescript black knit shirt and dragged a cigarette out of the rumpled pack.  "I was afraid of that . . ."

"They're not an issue anymore," Ashur replied.

"I would think not," Cain allowed.  "Jessa fought the second one?"

Ashur grunted, still not entirely pleased with the idea that he'd almost been too late, that she'd felt the need to fight, at all . . . "Yeah, she did.  I mean, I don't think she did badly, really—I didn't see the whole thing, but by the time I got there, he looked like she'd gotten him fairly well, given that she has zero training in offensive fighting, but . . ." He grimaced, shook his head.  "She was pretty dazed.  Mormount punched her in the face—at least, that's what it looked like . . ."

Cain grunted, lighting the cigarette and expelling a thick cloud of smoke before replying. "You _did_ kill the bastard, right?"

"Yeah . . . Yeah, I did."

"Good.  Is she okay?"

He sighed since that was really the million dollar question, as far as he was concerned.  "Physically?  Yes, she's fine.  Mentally?  She blames herself because she let Kells go out to play by himself.  _I_ let him go out to play alone, too—the first time I did, she asked me if I was sure that it was okay to do that, for that matter . . . I told her it wasn't her fault, but she . . ." Trailing off with a grimace, he gave a rather helpless kind of shrug.  "She doesn't believe me.  Anyway, she's going to visit Myrna for a couple weeks, so I'm hoping that she'll be able to deal with it all—maybe have some time to put everything in perspective."

"Sometimes a little space is necessary," Cain agreed.  "Anyway, back on the subject of those guys . . .?  Anyone else hiding in the woodwork that you know of?"

Pulling Kells into his lap when the toddler shuffled into the office, rubbing a balled up fist over his eyes, Ashur kissed the boy's downy head and let out a deep breath.  "There might be, but I don't have any names.  Mormount mentioned, 'they' a few times when he called to trick me into leaving, but he didn't name names, unfortunately."

"I'll see if there's anyone around who can check into this some, too.  The more ears out, the better, and I'd prefer it if you were able to get a jump on the next one, if it should come to that . . ."

"Thanks."

"I'll make a few calls."

"Sure . . . One last question."

"Oh, okay, shoot . . ."

Ashur frowned.   "Do you know anything about a Devlin  Broughton?"

"Uh, Broughton . . . I met him at your birthday party, right?" Cain remarked thoughtfully.  "Should I look into him?"

Ashur sighed, rubbing his temple as he considered that.  "Yeah, he was there, but no . . . I just thought maybe you might have heard something about him . . ."

"Should I have?"

"I . . . don't know."

Cain sighed.  "That sounds rather cryptic.  What's going on?"

"Nothing that I know of.  Just . . . He's one of Jessa's friends here, and he owns the property next door . . . He was here when I got home.  He'd somehow managed to cure Kells' venom . . ."

"Oh . . . Then that's good, right?"

"Well, yes . . . I just . . . I wonder how he was able to do that . . ."

Cain sat back, considering Ashur's question for a moment.  "I . . . don't know . . . I mean, there aren't many types of youkai that could do such a thing . . . I take it, you mean that he literally cured him?  Did Jessa mention anything?"

"No, but, uh . . . He cured me, too—I think.  I mean, I was pretty out of it.  Mormount pumped me full of venom, too, so . . . Anyway, I . . . I remember that he was leaning over me, but he . . . He didn't look . . . right . . ."

"What do you mean?"

"Youkai can't change their appearance with a concealment, can they?  It just hides their attributes . . ."

Cain grunted, scratching his forehead as he considered Ashur's question. "Normally, no, but the stronger youkai can do it.  I seem to recall Sesshoumaru going through a phase where he altered the length of his hair with his, so it's possible, but, like I said, it'd have to be a fairly strong concealment . . . Why?"

Ashur slowly shook his head.  "I could have been delusional.  They tell me I was running a pretty high fever, but . . . But I swear that he had different hair and eye color at the time . . ."

"What . . . sort of coloring?"

"Normally, he's got brown hair and blue eyes—short hair, actually . . . What I thought I saw . . . He had white hair and really light green eyes—kind of ringed with darker green toward the outside, but the inside by the pupil was this really hazy, barely green-green . . ."

"You mean, hair like Gins?  Or Sesshoumaru's?"

"No, I mean _white_ . . ."

"White, huh?"

"Yeah . . ."

Cain sighed.  "I  . . . I can't think of  any that would fit that description.  You don't know what kind of youkai Broughton is?"

"No . . . I mean, it just never really occurred to me.  He's an overall nice guy—no weird vibes or anything, but . . ." Ashur sighed.  "I . . . I don't know . . . I mean, if he did what I think he did, then just who the hell is he . . .?"

Cain nodded slowly.  "As far as the venom removal, if that's what it was, the only thing I've ever heard, and it was a long time ago, was the mention of a certain variant of youkai, but as far as I know, they don't exist anymore and haven't for . . . hundreds of years.  I overheard Sesshoumaru talking to Kagura once.  He said that the last known one had been found dead—left the body behind, maybe because of the way he was killed . . . "

Ashur slowly shook his head.  "Yeah, well, I plan on talking to him, seeing what he'll tell me."

Cain seemed thoughtful, but his gaze settled on Kells, who had snuggled against Ashur's chest and had immediately fallen asleep, and he smiled just a little.  "All right, keep me informed.  We'll talk when you're down in the city for the dinner and gala."

Ashur grimaced since he'd managed to forget about that whole thing entirely.  Still he really didn't have a choice as to whether or not he attended, given that Gin was going so far out of her way to hold a dinner on his behalf.  "Not a problem," he assured the tai-youkai.

"Okay.  Let me know if anything else comes up . . . For now, you may want to consider taking measures to secure your estate—put up a wall, hire some security—at least, until the threat passes."  Cain chuckled, but it was a little wry.  "You've got a lot to protect out there, don't you?"

Ashur nodded, his gaze slipping down to the boy, sleeping against him.  "Yeah, I do."

The video connection ended, and Ashur sighed, rubbing his forehead at the trace weariness that had set in much faster than he'd anticipated.

Kells sighed and snuggled closer in his sleep, and Ashur smiled slightly, rubbing his small back, tousling his hair . . . He couldn't really remember the last time that Kells was this quiet, this cuddly, for this long.  Even though he hated the reason for it, he had to admit that he rather enjoyed this little bit of nostalgia, too, despite the unwelcome feeling that it came with a price . . . The truth of it was that, with every passing day, Kells grew a little less and less, 'Ashur's' and a little more of his own, and, while the understanding left him feeling as though he was doing something right, he would be lying if he tried to say that he didn't miss those early days, either . . .

Jessa had said that Ashur had spent four days, sleeping off the poison, but she'd also admitted that Kells had suffered a larger dose, at least, in comparison to overall body size.  She'd said that he'd been sleeping for the most part, the whole time, too, just like Ashur, and he must have gotten upset, waking up alone, which was why he'd come downstairs, had crawled into his father's lap . . .

Shifting the boy so that he could stand up without losing his grip on Kells, Ashur levered himself out of the chair, ignoring the pile of reports on his desk.  True, he really needed to catch up.  There were, however, things that were far more important, and Kells was one of those things . . .

Carefully stepping out of the office and heading for the stairs, Ashur figured that taking a break in the middle of the afternoon so that Kells could rest, safe in the knowledge that his father was near was as good a reason as any.  After all, in a year, in two years, in ten?  Wasn't the base understanding that Ashur could and would drop everything, just to see to his needs a far more rewarding thing than making sure that he met a few deadlines along the way . . .?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

' _I_. . . _I don't know if this is a good idea or not, Jessa_ . . .'

Belting the white satin robe closed as she bit her lip and fussed with her hair in the mirror over the dresser, she quickly pinched her cheeks to bring some color to the surface before drawing a deep breath and pressing a hand against her stomach to quell the rising rush of butterflies.  She had no real idea, just why she felt so unsettled, so nervous.  She'd taken a long shower, spending extra time, washing and conditioning her hair, brushed her teeth meticulously . . . She'd even filed the tips off her claws, took the time to slather on the moisturizer—everything she normally ignored, but for some reason, tonight . . .

Common sense told her that she didn't really need to be worried that he would reject her.  After all, he liked her body well enough, didn't he . . .?  Even so . . .

Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, she let out a deep breath—shockingly loudly in the silence.  Nearly three in the morning, and if she waited any longer, it would be too late, but she hadn't dared go to him earlier, either, not if she wanted everything to go the way she'd planned . . .

Before that, however, there was just one last thing . . . one more thing she needed to do . . .

" _Da?  What is it?_ "

 _Chuckling softly as Niall O'Shea leaned down, scooped three-year-old Jessa up off the floor, breathing in the smell of the antique ivory lace, hearing the rustle of the ribbons and the bows and the slightly papery crinkle of the crinoline that held the birthday dress out wide, he snuggled her in the crook of his arm and dangled the pendant before her.  Her eyes lit up, glowing so softly, so brightly, reflecting the lazily undulating fire contained in the crystal vial.  Like a million little fires, the ancient embodiment of a million artists' renditions, all locked together and given life, glowing gently from the tiny talisman . . . "This, lamb, is your da's fire—my flames," he told her gently, kissing her cheek, savoring her dewy skin_.

 _Orlaith adjusted her skirts, kneeling down before the two of them, her smile bright as she reached out, ran her fingertips along Jessa's face.  "When you have this, then you know that your da is never very far away, and should you need him—_ really _need him—all you have to do is break it, Jessa, and your da will come to you_."

" _No matter where I am?" Jessa asked, turning her body to peer up at her father's face, her fathomless eyes wide, shining_.

 _He smiled.  "Absolutely, no matter where you are_ . . ."

 _She took the pendant in her hands.  Shaped like a small heart, no more than an inch tall, no more than an inch wide, the glow of the bubbled heart cast vague yet warm light in her hands.  Orlaith rose on her knees, leaned forward to take the pendant, to fasten the fine but sturdy silver chain around her daughter's neck.  "Da, why's it got water in there?" Jessa asked, holding onto the pendant, face screwing up in a thoughtful pout as she stared at it_.

" _That's no' water, lass.  It's oil from the moonblossoms—the night-blooming cereus.  It's what keeps the flame burning," he told her.  "The ault ones—they gather the flowers by the light of the moon—beautiful white blooms, doomed to ne'er see the light o' day, and they bloom for but a single night . . . Then they harvest those flowers, and they press 'em between rock and stone for years, waitin' ever patient for the ool to come oot . . . They say it takes nigh a hunnert blossoms to make one drop o' the ool . ._."

The memory faded, and Jessa sighed.  That flame had died, too, within an hour of her father's passing, and the pain, the melancholy, the absolute desperation, that had followed . . . She winced.

Letting out a deep breath, Jessa lifted the small crystal orb she'd bought yesterday, carefully pulling the tiny cork, setting it aside as she glanced at the candle beside her on the dresser, willing it to light.  She'd had to order the night-blooming cereus oil from a website and had paid extra to insure that it was delivered in time . . . Using the tiny glass funnel that came with it, she poured the oil carefully before setting it aside.  Then she closed her eyes, wrapping the orb in her hands as she willed her youki to fill it, willed the youki to ignite.

She gasped softly as she opened her eyes, as she slowly uncurled her fingers.  Half-surprised to see the flames dancing inside the tiny vessel, she watched it, just for a moment, before slipping the cork back into the hole.  Then she dipped the cork's end into the melted candle's wax before slipping the silver chain through the tiny silver loop, embedded in the cork.  Despite the dancing flames, the crystal remained cool to the touch, and she sighed, then smiled—a trembling, weak thing—and she blinked fast to thwart the tears that tried to cloud her vision . . .

She stared at the pendant for a long moment, lifting it to her lips, kissing it gently, before setting it down on the dresser and slipping out of her room and down the hallway.  She paused at Kells' room, carefully opened the door.  The boy was sleeping—she'd half expected him to be in Ashur's room, which would have effectively put an abrupt end to her plan—or at least, it would have made her rethink her strategy.

' _Jessa . . . He didn't come to us, you know?  He didn't even pause outside our door . . ._ '

Ignoring the words of her youkai-voice, she closed Kells' door and padded down the hallway.

Staring at the closed door, she bit her lip, wildly snatching at her waning bravado, wondering if she weren't ultimately making the biggest mistake so far, but before she could talk herself out of it—before she could tell herself just how selfish she truly was being—she grasped the handle, gave it a good turn, and stepped into Ashur's room.

He wasn't there.

Jessa frowned.  She'd heard him come upstairs hours ago, but maybe he'd slipped back down, maybe he'd opted to get some more work done or something since he'd laid down at some point during the afternoon with Kells, and he was sleeping when she'd gone to find him at dinner time.

She started to turn, but the bathroom door opened.  He stepped out and stopped short, hand stilling on the towel that he was using to scrub as his dampened hair, and he sighed.  "Jessa . . ."

It was a lot harder to do than she'd thought, wasn't it?  A lot harder to get her voice to say any of the things she'd rehearsed for the last few days . . . Not one of those things sounded right to her now . . .

"I thought you'd be sleeping," he remarked, tossing the hair towel on the floor in front of the bathroom, draping his hands on his towel, clad hips.  "I . . . I didn't want to wake you up."

For some reason, his words . . . They sounded just like an excuse to her, and she tried to smile, the, but the expression felt all wrong.  It felt like her face was made of stone . . . or of glass . . .

"Excited?" he asked, smashing his hand against his still slightly discolored shoulder, rotating the shoulder slowly.  "You probably are . . . I guess it isn't very exciting here, is it?  You should have Myrna take you to see the Statue of Liberty—all of that touristy-stuff that I didn't get around to showing you."

Hand reaching up, grasping the tiny cross pendant that hung around her throat, Jessa drew a deep breath, willing for her courage to stick, to stay.  "Ashur, I . . ." Forcing her feet to carry her forward, she couldn't help the slight fogginess that entered her line of vision.

He stopped, turned to look at her—really look at her—his vague little smile fading as he stepped toward her, as he drew her into his arms.  "Hey . . . Why are you crying?"

She shook her head stubbornly.  "I'm not," she managed, refusing to look at him.  If she met his gaze, if she saw that frown . . . "I just wanted . . ."

He sighed, as though he understood what she was trying to say.  "Come on," he said, tugging her toward the bed, "let's just lie down, okay?  We're both tired, right?  There's no rush . . ."

Pulling away from him, she couldn't help the scowl that surfaced on her features.  "No, Ashur," she insisted.  "I—"

"I've just . . . I've got a lot on my mind," he told her.  "Too much, really, and—"

"It's because I let Kells get hurt," she blurted before she could stop herself.  She hadn't actually meant to say any such thing, and yet . . ."

"No," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.  "You didn't let anything happen to him," he told her.  "You know that."

She digested that for a moment, gathering her hair over her shoulder, staring miserably at the floor as she twisted the locks around and around.  "Then you . . . You just . . . don't want . . . me?"

She didn't see the flinch that flickered over his face, didn't see the thoughtful frown as he stared at her.  When he didn't answer right away, though, she sighed, squaring her shoulders as she gathered the tattered remains of her dwindling bravado, as she forced herself to give the bow at her waist one good yank.

And she let the robe fall to the floor in a whisper of satin.

He sucked in a sharp breath, the blue of his gaze, darkening as her thrall spun around him, attesting to the silent battle of wills he was waging inside.  She winced inwardly.  Whatever there was or wasn't between them, he liked her body well enough, and that was what she was banking on . . . It all came down to this, didn't it?  One last night, one last time, and in the morning, she'd pick herself up, and she'd go on . . .

He didn't move, just stood there, as though he were transfixed, staring at her in a dazed sort of way as she stepped toward him, as she reached for the towel and tugged it loose, letting it drag from her fingertips to crumple to the floor.

Dropping to her knees, taking the thickness of him in her hands, she squeezed him, stroked him, leaned forward and drew one of his balls into her mouth.  He groaned roughly, caught himself on the tall post of the bed, head falling back as she lapped at him, as she slowly pumped him up and down.  He shivered, his legs shaking, and he moaned, the sound of his breathing, harsh and shallow in the silence of the room.  She let go of him, the gentle suction of her mouth giving way, and he gasped as she dragged her tongue up over him, up the length of him, using the very tip to trace around the head of his cock.  His legs buckled, and he sat down hard on the edge of the bed, falling back, knees spread, feet resting on the floor.

Jessa rose up on her knees, grabbed onto him again as she licked the first drops of moisture from him, closing her eyes as a fine sheen of tears rose to blind her.  Trying so desperately not to think about it, not to give in to the realization that it was just this, just once, and that tomorrow, she'd have to force these moments—these memories—from her mind forever, because if she didn't . . .

He slid between her lips, her saliva coating him as she created rhythm and light, as a solitary tear slipped from the corner of her eye.  It was all right, wasn't it?  Moaning, groaning, his body thrashing almost wildly beneath her, he couldn't see it, wasn't focused upon it, and in the end, it wouldn't matter, either . . .

She felt him thicken, sighed softly as she increased the pressure in her hands, in her mouth.  Hands reaching down, fingers sinking deep in her hair, he groaned, raising his hips as he pulled her down on him, each time a little faster, a little deeper.  With one last gasp, one half-groan, half-breath, he yanked her down a little harder, body taut, rigid, as he jerked between her lips, as he filled her mouth.

Hands slipping away, only to fall heavily against the duvet, he struggled to breath, gasping, fighting as she swallowed his release,  as she sucked him clean, as she let go of him long enough to pull a condom out of the nightstand.  Ripping the packet open, she dropped it beside the bed and smoothed the condom down on him, but when she lifted her gaze, it was to find him staring at her, eyes darkened to nearly black as his passion still burned bright.

He sat up slowly, reached for her, and yet, the absolute gentleness as he grasped her, as he pulled her onto the bed was completely at odds with the fierceness in his stare.  Laying her down, settling himself between her splayed knees, he leaned on his elbows, stroked her face, pushed her hair back as he kissed her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, and softly, so very tenderly, her lips . . .

It was the sweetest kiss she'd ever known, the whispering touch that brought another wash of tears to her eyes. Trapped behind her eyelids, she willed them back, focusing instead on the tender sensations, her hands slipping up his chest, around his neck, as she wished that this moment would linger forever . . .

Breathing in the scent of him, so vibrant, so welcome, so familiar, and yet, so overwhelming, too, she sighed, savoring the feel of his body, trying to commit every ridge, every hollow, every rise, and every fall to memory, but it was growing increasingly harder to do when every touch, every heartbeat sent another round of sparks through her, deep into her, right to that core of her that burned for him, that ached and throbbed and begged for him . . .

And yet, it felt like the most perfect and natural thing in the world, didn't it?  Slipping into her in one slow, maddening stroke, and her body stretched to accommodate him, yet held him firmly, his kisses creating a thorough accord, an intricate balance between lust and something far deeper, more intricate . . . Reaching down, grasping her hip, cradling her thigh in his arm, he held her tight, rocking his hips against hers, but the frenzy, the insanity, was somehow missing, and what replaced it . . .

She couldn't hold back the tear that escaped this time, couldn't control the whimper that slipped from her lips.  The tenderness that he showed her was blinding, brilliant, and somehow, more bitter, more rending than anything else she'd ever known.  His body moved within hers, creating the same heat, the same friction that she knew, that she craved, and the tension that wound so tightly was exquisite, stripping away the careful façade she'd tried so hard to maintain, leaving her bare and naked . . . If she opened her eyes, he'd see it all—everything she was trying to hide, so she kept them closed, held on to that smallest bit of her heart, even as he took it from her with whispers and sighs and a cresting need . . .

"Look at me, _Amaterasu_ ," he said softly, his roughened voice slipping over her like a caress.

For the briefest of seconds, she sought to disobey him, a surge of panic cutting deep.  Even so, she couldn't ignore his quiet entreaty, opening her eyes despite the sheen of tears that stood in them.

He gasped, giving his head a little shake, as though he didn't understand the expression on her face, but he didn't need to, not really.  She knew it, and she was selfish enough not to want to give that to him, too . . .

Another long, slow stroke made her moan—a keening sound that she couldn't contain.  Balancing on the cusp of beautiful madness, she felt her body constrict around him, and he grimaced as he dropped his forehead against hers.

Slowly deepening his thrusts, but careful not to speed up too much, he whispered in her ear, but she couldn’t make out his words.  Caught up too deeply in the tremors of her own body, in the rapid constrictions that she couldn’t control, she couldn't help it as she lifted her hips against his, drawing him ever-deeper as she increased the tempo, bracing her feet against the bed, meeting him with every stroke . . .

He twitched inside her, thickened precariously as she cried out, as she shook and trembled, rising up to meet him just one last time as his voice mingled with hers.  The fire shot upward—up and out, as the wave of her orgasm lifted her high, cosseting her gently in the wash of pleasure . . .

In those minutes, those blissful and quiet minutes, when the only sound to be heard was the stunted breathing, the rasping satiation, she didn't know how she managed to keep herself from falling completely apart.  Ashur collapsed on her, grunted as he rolled onto his back, dragging her against his side.  He slipped out of her as she winced, and she forced herself to sit up, to carefully remove the condom and toss it into the trashcan before she curled up against him once more.

Gradually, his breathing evened out, took on the light and rhythmic cadence of sleep, his arms still wrapped tightly around her, holding her against his heart, making her feel cherished, almost loved . . .

She closed her eyes, savored the feeling, even while she hated herself just a little more for being too weak to pull away when she knew deep down that it was all just an illusion.  All of those emotions that she wanted to be hers . . . They weren't . . .

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she sighed, closed her eyes, savored the feeling for one last, lingering moment, wondering just how long it would take before she felt this way again—if she ever felt this way again.  Whether it was simple pity for the girl who had no one, no home, nobody . . . Whether she was just someone who was convenient, someone who'd wanted to belong so desperately that she'd take anything that he gave her . . . And in the end . . .

Carefully extricating herself from his arms, she paused long enough to kiss his cheek, to memorize the way his face looked so much younger when he slept, as his words spoke to her in her mind: the words he'd spoken that night under the stars . . .

" _If you live long enough, everyone lets you down eventually_."

No, he didn't let her down, did he?  How could he when he was never hers to begin with . . .?

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Okmeamithinknow ——— minthegreen ——— ShiroNeko316 ——— rawo
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** monsterkittie ——— lianned88
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _Time to … go_ …


	53. Endings

Jessa knelt beside the bed, staring at the sleeping child as a sad, sad smile tugged on her lips, twitching just a little as she carefully lifted his head, as she slipped the silver chain over him before laying him back down, straightening the softly glowing talisman.  "If  you . . . If you ever need me, Kells . . . If you _really_ need me . . . Just break this, and I . . ." Biting back a sob, she swallowed hard, drew a deep breath, hoping that her words reached him as he slumbered.  "I'll come find you," she whispered.

He sighed, rolled toward her slightly, cherubic cheeks glowing in the wan, warm light.  He was a rare child—so bright, so brilliant . . . and even if it was just for a little while, she'd loved being with him, too . . .

" _Can you be my mommy?_ "

 _Jessa blinked and shot the boy a look.  "Wh-Wh-What?" she stammered, unable to help the blood that suddenly shot into her cheeks, making her feel a little feverish.  "Wh-Why would you ask me that?_ "

 _He giggled.  "'Cause you're pretty an' I wike you!"  Then he frowned.  "Everybody else has a mommy . . . Nadi and Emmy have a mommy . . . Cherry's their mommy . . ." His frown shifted into a confused sort of sadness.  "I don't know why I don't gots no mommy_."

She grimaced, and yet, the memories kept coming . . .

" _Yeah . . . I gots to go now.  It's time for s'mores!_ "

" _Okay, Kells.  Have fun, and I miss you_."

" _I miss you, too, Jessa, and I miss Daddy_. . ."

She didn't dare kiss him, but she didn't dare not to, either.  Child of her heart, even if he wasn't ever really meant to be hers . . . And he'd never, ever know, would he, just how very much she'd come to love him . . .

Kissing her fingertips, she brushed them over his cheek, her fingertips lingering against the warmth of his skin, but she forced herself to turn away before she started to cry . . .

She didn't have much time, did she?  She'd already ordered a taxi, and it would be here soon, so before it came, there was one last thing she had to do . . .

The overwhelming smell of their lovemaking nearly stopped her before she could even enter Ashur's room.  Too close, too bittersweet, too poignant, and too beautiful, she forced herself to step into the room, forced herself to move toward the bed.  Staring at his sleeping form, she grimaced, smashing her fist against her lips hard—hard enough to draw blood as her tender flesh collided against her fangs.

She pulled the duvet up over him, wished that she could crawl right back into that bed, back into his arms, wondering just for a moment what he'd say if she begged him, if she . . . if she pleaded with him . . . Even if he couldn't love her, would it really be so bad, would he let her at least love him . . .?

' _Except that would be entirely unfair, and you know it . . . That's why . . ._ '

And she hated the truth of those words, too—hated that she had to make such a choice, that she couldn't remain as she was, that she . . .

Then, she closed her eyes, just for a moment, willing away the painful surge that nearly brought her to her knees.

Reaching back behind her, grasping the low-hanging ponytail she'd tied her hair into after she got dressed, she cut through it with one solid flick of her claws just above the velvet ribbon.  She shook the length out straight, stared at it for a moment before laying it on the pillow beside Ashur, and she sighed.

She'd lied to him, had purposefully led him to believe that her plane was later in the day, which was the only reason why he'd given in and fallen asleep.  She'd lied to him when he'd asked her how long she'd be gone, too, because she hadn't intended to come back at all, not from the start.

She wanted to put a nice face on it, didn't she?  Wanted to say that she was stepping away for all the right reasons—because it was time to stand on her own, because she wasn't a child any longer . . . because she wasn't afraid of the future, of what it meant to her . . .

She wanted to say all of those things, but not one of them was true.  No, the ugly truth of it all was that she . . . that she _was_ afraid, wasn't she?  Afraid of putting Ashur in the position to have to say those things to her that he'd said in private without realizing that she'd overheard him, that she'd have to try not to let him see just how badly it hurt her, that she would have to pretend that it wasn't a big deal to her, too . . . afraid of having to see the reality that she really wasn't anything to him other than a warm body . . . Afraid of the anger that lived deep down in her, that anger that could and did hold it all against Ashur—that he couldn't step back and understand that she wasn't mature, she wasn't sophisticated, she wasn't versed in the ways of the world, and yet, how could she be when she was only eighteen . . .?  It was an impotent sort of anger, tinged with a sense of hopelessness . . .

The sound of a car horn outside made her grimace, and she sighed, letting her knuckles brush over Ashur's cheek for one last, long moment, savoring the trace hint of stubble on his skin, the sharp rise of his cheekbone, the darkened smudge of his eyelashes, fanning down over his cheek . . . Biting her lip as she turned away, she couldn't stop the first tears that fell.  Somewhere, deep down, it felt as though some part of her was ripping, tearing, rending in half, only to crumble away as the harshest ache opened up so deep, so raw, that she had to smash her hand over her lips as she hurried down the hallway, as she grabbed her bag before hurrying down the stairs . . .

The sun had barely begun to rise in the strange and macabre haze of the early morning.  The cab driver stood beside the running car, holding the rear door open.  "Morning, miss," he greeted.

She nodded, but said nothing as she slid into the back seat.

He closed the door and loped around the car as she stared up at the house, with the ivory that grew up over the stone and mortar, at the windows that seemed sad, hollow, almost as empty as she felt, too . . . It stood, silent and cold, as though the act of simply walking out the door had brought on the sense that it wasn't her home anymore, as the familiarity of it was lost in an instant, in a blink of an eye, forgetting her as easily as the sun would rise in a matter of minutes . . . It wasn't hers.  It wasn't meant to ever be . . . "Jean Lesage International Airport?" the driver asked, peering at her in the rearview mirror.

"Yes," she murmured.

He fell silent as he crept along the long driveway, heading for the road.

That was fine with Jessa, as she finally let the tears that she'd been holding in, flow.  Digging into her bag for a tissue, she pulled out the music box instead.  It was the only gift she'd taken with her—a birthday present, and that was all right . . . Those other things—the earrings, the baubles, the trinkets . . . Those things were given from a sense of owing her, weren't they?  Those things . . . She didn't want them, didn't need them, and she sniffled, letting her fingers trace over the smooth surface, gently lifting the lid as the soft chime of _Greensleeves_ dug at her just a little more . . . If she'd known then what she knew now, would it have changed anything that had happened?

Wiping her eyes with the long sleeve of the light peach sweater, she sighed.  No, she thought . . . Even if she had known from the start, just how it all would end, she didn't really think she would have changed a thing . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Daddy?"

Ashur groaned but didn't open his eyes.

"Daddy?"

"Kells . . .?" he muttered, unable to process much, feeling as though his entire head was full of sawdust and very little else.  "Wha . . .?"

Kells uttered a little whimper.  "Daddy, where's Jessa?"

Forcing his eyes open as he pushed himself up on his elbow, Ashur blinked and slowly focused on his son.  "Jessa?" he mumbled.

"She gave me dis, and I can't find her," Kells went on, the distress in  his voice growing exponentially more agitated with every passing moment.

Scowling at the small orb, suspended on a chain around the boy's neck, he slowly shook his head, gingerly reached over, let the pendant dangle against his open palm.  "Jessa's . . . flames . . ." he murmured.  "She . . . She gave this to you?"  Kells nodded, uttering a choked little sob as he launched himself into his father's arms.  "Kells . . ."

"I want Jessa," he whined, whimpered, smashing his face a little deeper against Ashur's chest.

Rubbing his forehead as he tried to make sense of Kells' near panicked state of upset, he shook his head.  "Jessa was going to visit her cousin for a couple weeks," he told him, attempting a placating sort of tone.   "She's only going to be gone a two weeks—just like when you went with Ben and Charity, remember?"

Kells shook his head stubbornly.  "She said if I need her, that I should break it," Kells insisted. Suddenly, he sat up, blue eyes flashing, shining—almost terrified.  Grasping the orb, he tried to jerk on the chain, but it wouldn't give, and Ashur reached out, stopped him, wrapping his hands over Kells' to stop him.  "Daddy!  Let go!  I gotta break it!" he growled.

"No, Kells, stop," he commanded, maybe a little harsher than he intended.  When the child didn't give up, Ashur sighed, neatly pulling the necklace off the child as he rolled off the bed and hid the pendant in one of the upper drawers of his bureau that Kells couldn't reach.

The child uttered a furious growl, launching himself at Ashur's legs, balling up his tiny fists, smacking them against Ashur's thigh.  "Give it!  It's mine!" he hollered, his upset increasing by the second.

"Kells, quit," Ashur insisted, grasping the boy and lifting him off his feet  as he sank back down on the edge of the bed and held onto the wiggling child.  "She's only going to be gone a little while," he tried again.  "But she doesn't want you to break that—not when she's just left . . ."

And yet, even as he'd said the words, he scowled to himself.  Jessa had said that her plane didn't leave till later in the day, and yet, he could tell, couldn't he?  The richness of her aura . . . It was gone . . . But it was an unsettling type of emptiness, not nearly the same as the times she left to run to the store or spend the afternoon with Carol . . . No, there was a darkness, a void, this time, and that . . . That was what Kells sensed, too . . .

"Let me go!" Kells hollered, flailing his little arms against Ashur's firm hold.  "Let go, Daddy!  Where's Jessa?  I need to find her!"

"Kells, knock it off," Ashur growled, wishing in vain that the boy would quiet long enough for Ashur to think straight.  "I mean it!  Jessa's gone, and there's nothing we can do about it!"

Kells gasped, momentarily stilling, but whether it was because of Ashur's words or the idea that he had never, ever yelled at him like that before, Ashur didn't know.  Suddenly, though, Kells erupted in a fierce growl—or as fierce as a three-year-old's growl could be—and heaved against him with both his arms, freeing himself as he tumbled back on the mattress.  "I _hate_ you, Daddy!" Kells shrieked, pushing his feet against the bed, propelling himself backward into the pillows.  "I _hate_ you!  I want Jessa!  I don't want you!  You let Jessa leave!"

Drawing back as though Kells had struck him, Ashur blinked, stared at the child, all his irritation draining out of him as the boy lashed out the only way he could, making Ashur feel just a little worse for it all, and he winced when Kells covered his face with his tiny hands and sobbed.  "I'm sorry, Kells," he rasped out. "I—"

Cutting himself off abruptly, he narrowed his eyes, leaned forward slowly, reaching past Kells to pick up the bound together length of Jessa's hair from the pillow.  The long, gorgeous curls, the fiery locks . . . He brought it to his nose, breathed in the scent of her—so strong, so overwhelming—and he grimaced.

Glancing at Kells, rubbing his face with a shaking hand, he reached out to touch the child's shoulder, only to draw back when Kells yanked away from him.  He sighed, tugging a few strands out of the long tail and knotted the ends together as Kells flopped down, burying his face in the pillow that still carried her scent.

Letting out a deep breath, he quickly worked a braid into the length of hair that he'd removed.  Satisfied that it was long enough, he reached out, looped it around Kells' wrist, and tied it firmly.  "There," he said when Kells shot him a hostile glance.  "It's her hair," he told the child, nodding at the makeshift bracelet.  "And you can have your necklace back if you promise not to break it."

Kells sat up, stared at the bracelet, another wash of tears infiltrating Ashur's nose.  Suddenly, though, the boy launched himself at Ashur, throwing his arms around his neck as he sobbed some more.  "I'm sowwy, Daddy," he wailed.  "I'm sowwy . . ."

Ashur sighed again.  "It's okay, Kells," he told him, rubbing his back, staring at the bundle of her hair, tied so neatly with a bit of black velvet ribbon . . . "She'll be back," he said, unsure just why he felt like . . . like she wasn't coming back, at all . . . Wincing as that thought hit him just a little too hard, he swallowed, forced back the edges of turmoil that threatened him.  "You'll see . . . You'll see . . ."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"You look exhausted, Jess," Myrna remarked over salads at a small eatery just around the corner from Myrna's gorgeous skyplex condo.  "And your hair . . ."

"It's just hair," Jessa mumbled, concentrating on her salad that she really didn't want, but was trying to choke down, anyway.

"Well, yeah . . . It was just shocking to see you without your fiery hair, that's all," Myrna added.  "Anyway, it'll grow back . . . You know, I was always jealous of your hair . . ."

Jessa blinked, setting her for aside, and shook her head.  "You . . . You were?  But why?"

The hawk-youkai chuckled.  "Are you kidding?  Do you know that I can only think of one—one—youkai who has naturally curly hair, and that's you.  Even when I try to curl mine like that, it won't take.  I mean, natural body, sure, but your hair?"  She sighed.  "Your hair's amazing, Jessa, and that color?  I've always thought it was gorgeous."

She didn't know what to say to that, mostly because Jessa had always thought that Myrna was one of the prettier women she'd ever seen—classically beautiful, she supposed . . . "Thank you . . ."

Myrna waved off her thanks and stuck her credit card into the binder that the waitress had dropped off.  "You always were such a stunning child.  I figured you'd be a knockout later, and I was right.  I mean, look at you!  Are you sure you didn't leave someone behind in Canada—someone who's waiting for you to come back . . .?"

The deadly accuracy of Myrna's teasing made her shift slightly in her seat.  "Uh, n-no . . . no one," she replied, hoping that her cousin wouldn't notice her reticence.  "About that," she went on, measuring her words, trying to inflict a measure of matter-of-factness into her tone.  "I've been thinking that I'd rather stay here—that is, if you don't mind."

"You would?"

She nodded.

Myrna nodded slowly.  "But I thought you liked Canada . . . Or is it the whole nanny gig? Can't say I blame you for that . . . Don't get me wrong, I think Kells is the cutest little thing, ever, but you have to have patience that I know I don't have, and taking care of him all day?  Not really what I'd consider to be good for your future unless you plan on getting married and starting a family right away—and there's nothing wrong with that if it's what you want, but, girl, honestly?  You are far too young to worry about that stuff already."

It was on the tip of her tongue to disabuse Myrna of the notion that she somehow disliked taking care of Kells even slightly.  In the end, though, she figured that it was best just to say nothing, to let Myrna draw her own conclusions, even as a small part of her heart felt a though it was going to explode . . . "Something like that," she murmured, her gaze falling to the salad she'd barely pushed around the bowl.

Myrna didn't seem to think anything of her reply, and she laughed.  "Well, I, for one, am glad you're finally here!  It's been a long time, right?  And the last time I saw you—well, before all of this—you were so young . . ."

"You didn't much like me then, did you?" Jessa asked wryly.

Myrna made a face, dabbing at her lips with a napkin.  "It's not that I didn't like you," she said, "I just never know what to do with kids, what to say to them or anything . . . It's just . . . They're little people with their own language, and it's one I don't understand . . ."

Jessa nodded, figuring that Myrna really was trying, in her own way.  "It's all right.  So . . . What sort of things did you have in mind?"

Giving a little shrug as she paused from touching up her lipstick, Myrna winked at her.  "I have to admit, I've been bragging on you some, and there's a guy who really wants to meet you . . . Thought we'd go out for drinks—" She cut herself off with a grimace.  "You can't drink yet here, huh?  Entirely stupid, given that you can drink pretty much anywhere else in the world . . . Anyway, I've been seeing  his friend a few times—really nice guy—maybe a little _too_ nice . . ."

"Oh, I don't think—"

"Nothing serious . . . It's not like you have to marry him or anything . . ." Myrna laughed.

Jessa managed a very weak laugh.  "Oh, I . . . I wouldn't be ready for anything like that, anyway," she mumbled.

Myrna nodded, casually sipping her wine.  "You're tired, aren't you?  I'm so sorry that the flight was so early, but they didn't have another seat available till tomorrow . . ."

"No, it's fine," Jessa assured her.  "I guess I am just a little done in . . ."

"Well, if you want, we can go back to the condo.  I've got a few things I need to check on, and you can take a nap or something . . . Did you call Ashur?  Let him know you made it safely?"

"Uh, n-not yet," she said, trying to stave back the wash of pink that she could feel, rising in her cheeks at the simple mention of that particular name.  "I . . . I forgot my phone . . ."

"Oh, do you need one?  I can get one for you—one you can use while you're here . . ."

She shook her head.  "It's fine," she assured her.

Myrna nodded and smiled at the waitress, who took the folder and hurried away.  "You can give him a call from the condo."

"Well, I . . ." Jessa shook her head.  "I mean, it's about time for him to pick up Kells from preschool, and he's always working, so I don't want to bother him.  I'll . . . I'll call him later . . ."

"Okay," she agreed, digging into her purse for money to leave as a tip.  "Tomorrow, we can go shopping . . ."

"That sounds . . . fine," Jessa replied.

Myrna smiled at her as she got to her feet, slipping her purse over her shoulder.  "I'm really glad you're here," she said.

Jessa smiled just a little.  At least Myrna sounded entirely sincere . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** xSerenityx020
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda Gauger ——— minthegreen ——— Okmeamithinknow ——— monsterkittie ——— tibaporej
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** monsterkittie ——— Nate Grey ——— Crow
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Myrna_** :  
>  _She seems quiet_ …


	54. Headway

Frowning thoughtfully as he clicked to send the email, Ashur rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the list of unopened emails that he had yet to look through.  Somehow, he had absolutely zero motivation to open even one of them, knowing damn well that they were just more of the same: more welcoming of the new general, blah blah blah . . .

In fact, the only email he had opened was the one he'd just replied to: a horse breeder near Galway, Ireland, whose specialty was the gypsy cob.  Looking to buy a couple from them, maybe get recommendations for others who bred them, too . . . For some reason, he had a feeling that Jessa would really enjoy breeding the animals she loved so much, so he figured he'd see about surprising her with a few to start with as breeding stock.

He sighed, flopping back in the chair as he scowled at nothing in particular and everything in general. In the just over two days since she'd so unceremoniously left, Ashur was relatively sure that things couldn't be any worse. As if the emptiness in the very air of the mansion weren't bad enough, Kells had barely said more than a handful of words to him since, and the child flat-out refused to let Ashur into his room to tuck him into bed or to read him a book.  He'd barely mumbled 'goodbye' when Ashur had dropped him off at preschool an hour ago, for that matter . . . As though the boy seemed to believe that Jessa's disappearance was Ashur's fault, he stomped around the house when he was home, and last night, he'd put himself to bed around six o'clock, and he never tried to climb into bed with Ashur this morning.  Then he'd proceeded to insist that he wanted to take his shower alone.  Ashur had compromised by sitting on the sink counter to make sure Kells didn't drown or anything . . .

Then, too, it hadn't actually helped matters any when he'd caught Kells, trying his hardest to climb the dresser to get to the drawer where Ashur had stashed the pendant Jessa gave him.  Considering Kells' apparent one track mind, Ashur wasn't about to hand it back to the child when he knew damn well that he'd only break it in an effort to bring Jessa home sooner, not that Ashur truly could fault him for that.  He missed her pretty fiercely himself . . .

So, he'd moved the pendant into the safe hidden behind one of the panels here in his study.  He had every intention of giving it back, of course, but at the rate things were going, it wouldn't be until well after Jessa came home . . .

If the next week and a half was going to be anything like this?

Ashur sighed.

And just why hadn't she called?

Uttering a terse snort, Ashur grabbed his phone and checked to see if he'd missed any texts or calls—highly unlikely, given that he'd had the device sitting right beside him the entire time.  Nothing, of course, and he rubbed his face in an exasperated kind of way.

As if in answer to his thoughts, the phone rang in his hands, and he very nearly dropped it as he stared at it in dumbfounded surprise.  Heart slamming hard against his ribcage—just why it would do that when it was nothing more than a phone call—he swallowed hard as he blinked at the caller ID.

Then he sighed.  "Manami," he greeted, unable to summon even the vaguest hint of pleasure at the woman's horrific timing.

"Morning, Ashur.  I got your message.  Tell me what I can do for you . . ."

Shoving back the irritation that it was Manami calling and not Jessa, he sighed, rubbing his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb.  "Yeah, I was wondering if you were planning on going to the benefit gala?  I would have asked Ben, but he's in Japan with Charity right now—her cousin died, so Sierra's having a pretty rough time . . ."

"Charity's cousin?  Human, no?"

"Yeah.  I mean, I don't know that Sierra actually met him since it'd be a little hard to explain, why she looks the way she does, but she kept tabs on them all, I guess . . . Anyway, Ben said that she's understandably upset by it all, and so Charity wanted to go home to spend some time with her . . ."

"I see," she said.  "That's too bad about the cousin . . . Even if they didn't really know them, it would still be a difficult loss . . . As for the gala, I was invited, but if you need me, I think I'd much rather drive up and maybe spend a bit of time with Kells, instead.  I take it you're going to bring Jessa along for the festivities . . ."

Ashur grunted.  "Actually, she's already there.  Myrna invited her to stay with her for a couple weeks—a vacation."

"Oh, that sounds like fun!  I'm sure she's having the time of her life!  Myrna does love to play—understandable when she works so hard most of the time . . . They're probably having a ball, clubbing and shopping and all of that fun stuff . . ."

Scowling at Manami's choice of phrases, Ashur grunted.  "It's just for a couple weeks," he muttered, unsure if he was trying to reassure Manami or himself . . .

She laughed.  "I'm sure she misses you terribly," Manami stated.  "You know, if you have anything else you need to take care of, I'd be more than happy to come up sooner and spend time with my darling little Kells!"

"I was just going to bring him down with me.  I really don't want to inconvenience you.  I'd skip the dinner and gala if I thought I could, but since Gin's hosting the dinner in my honor, as it were . . .

Manami giggled and clucked her tongue.  "One must never decline the invitation of the tai-youkai's wife, and honestly, I love spending time with Kells."

Heaving a sigh, he reached for the long, gorgeous length of Jessa's hair that she'd cut off and left him.  Letting it fall through his fingers, as he frowned at it, he smoothed it, over and over again, drawing in a deep breath as the scent of her infiltrated his nostrils.  "Thanks . . ."

"I tell you what: I have a few things that I need to see to, so I can't leave now, but I'll drive up tomorrow."

"If you're sure you don't mind . . . I mean, it wouldn't be an issue to bring him along."

"Don't be silly!  Besides, you would have to take him out of school for a time, and that's no good.  I'm coming up there.  That's final."

"Okay, you win."

She laughed.  "Of course, I do.  Now I need to get things done and pack, so I'll see you tomorrow, Ashur."

He smiled just a little as the line went dead, and he heaved a sigh.  He didn't actually have anything else going on in the city, though he had called his tailor just after he'd talked to Cain to order a new tux, but he'd indicated that he'd really rather that Ashur come in to be re-measured since it'd been over a year since the last time.

The chime of the doorbell interrupted his musings, though, and Ashur slowly stood up.  He knew who it was.  What he didn't know was exactly what kind of answers he was about to get . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa stared out the window at the falling rain.  It was rather ironic and fit her mood quite nicely, and she sighed, drawing up her knees as she leaned her forehead against the cool pane of glass.  It did nothing for the burgeoning headache that she'd been harboring all day, but she stared outside, eyes reflecting the droplets of water, dripping down the glass.  There was something entirely symbiotic about it: the rain, the damp, the chill . . .

Two days.

Two days since she'd boarded the plane and flew away from Ashur, away from Kells.  Two days that felt like a lifetime . . . like she couldn't really breathe . . .

Waking up in the morning was all right, at least, until she remembered.  Then the ache would return with a vengeance, so thick, so heavy that it left her reeling, bereft, and even just a little annoyed that no one understood, that no one could see it in her face, and maybe she was decent at covering it up, but somehow, she just didn't think that was the case . . .

And yet, she didn't want anyone to look at her, to know just what she was thinking, what she was feeling.  Having perfect strangers, or worse, Myrna, looking at her?  Feeling sorry for her?  No, she really didn't want that, at all.

Even so, a part of her had to wonder, really, just what anything at all meant . . .

Last night, Myrna had talked her into going out with her and a friend on a blind date with another of her friends, and Jessa had hated every minute of it.  Dinner at a very nice restaurant and a quaint little jazz club in SoHo with a man who was very kind, very nice, very eager—and entirely boring . . . Entirely . . . ' _Not . . . Ashur . . ._ '

The worst part of it all was the vast emptiness that ached.  Walking down the street with Myrna yesterday as the two had gone out to do some shopping, more than once, she'd spotted someone—tall, perhaps, with the flash of golden brown hair—and when she'd looked again, the bitter disappointment was almost more than she could bear.

' _You ken, it's not too late to go back,_ ' her youkai-voice that had been strangely quiet the last couple days, said.  ' _If you told Myrna you'd rather go back, it's not like she'd say, 'no' . . ._ '

Just those words were enough to send her hopes soaring, despite her own resolve not to do any such thing.  It was impossibly cruel, wasn't it?  To be the one to have to tell herself that, no, she really, really couldn't.  As difficult as it was right now, wouldn't it be far worse if she went back?  If she stayed with him because it was where she wanted to be, even if he . . .

Even if he didn't really care . . .

' _Maybe . . . Maybe that's why they call it a crush . . ._ '

Somewhere in the distance, the phone rang, and Jessa sighed, letting her chin fall onto her raised knees.

The awful truth of it was that Ashur hadn't ever really given her anything to hold onto, not really.  He'd given her jewels and money and . . . and things, but . . . but those things didn't mean anything, not when he'd only given them to her to pay for services rendered . . .

' _Is that what you really believe, lass?  Don't you think you might well be selling him a little bit short?_ '

She grimaced.  ' _No, I  . . . I don't think so . . ._ '

A curt knock on her door made her jump, and she turned her face just as Myrna peeked into the bedroom with a strange look on her face.  "It's for you," she said, holding out the phone, covering the microphone with her hand.  "It's Ian MacDonnough."

Jessa frowned, but untangled her legs as she got to her feet.  She crossed the floor and started to reach out, but Myrna pulled the receiver back.  "If you don't want to talk to him, I'll be more than happy to tell him so," she said.

Jessa smiled wanly, but took the phone anyway, waiting until Myrna wrinkled her nose as she stepped out of the room once more before she lifted it to her ear.  "Hello?"

"Lady O'Shea.  This is Ian MacDonnough.  You're a very difficult young woman to get a hold of . . ."

"My apologies, Lord MacDonnough . . . Is there something I can do for you?"

He chuckled.  For some reason, it almost sounded menacing.  "On the contrary.  It's something I can do for you."

Shaking her head, she frowned.  "I . . . I don't understand . . ."

He sighed, quite possibly for dramatic effect.  "I've been looking over your documentation, and I think I've found a way to end the difficulties I've had in signing over your estate.  As you know, your father failed to file a will before his untimely passing, which, according to the laws of the peerage, means that you should inherit everything.  However, according to our laws, the majority of his estate, since he didn't specify in a will that you should inherit that, must sit in escrow until such time that you marry.  As a favor to you, I've found a suitable mate for you: Hughbert Kingston, Viscount of Knightsboro—the son and heir of Duke Portsmouth.  If you agree to the marriage, then everything will be handled forthwith."

She frowned.  "But everything will be turned over to . . . to _him_ ," she said.  " _I_ wouldn't have access to my own estate . . ."

"Well, that is incidental, really.  I would imagine that as long as you please your mate, that he would be more than happy to allow you some access.  Besides, do you really want to be encumbered by the running of your estates?  Tedious work, really . . ."

"But . . . I should have a say in it," she reiterated.  "I'm sorry, Lord MacDonnough.  I'm not interested in marrying someone I've never even met before."

Ian chuckled politely, but there was no amusement in the sound.  "As it stands, I feel that it's prudent to warn you that your mating—your marriage—must be approved by me because of your extraordinary circumstances.  When you change your mind, Lady O'Shea, do give me a call back."

The line went dead, and Jessa bit her lip, shuffling out of her room and down the hallway.

"So, what did _he_ want?" Myrna asked, the scowl on her face speaking volumes about her feelings on Ian MacDonnough.

"To sell me," she muttered, dropping the receiver back into the base.  "The nerve . . ."

"Sell you?"

Jessa snorted, glowering at the phone as though it had offended her.  "Told me that he'd release my estate to—my husband—if I agreed to marry the man he chose, and then he went on to say that he has final approval over my mating— _my mating_ —because Da didn't leave a will . . ."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Myrna growled, rising to her feet, reaching for the phone.  "Oh, I'm going to call that ball-less bastard back and let him know exactly what he can do with his threats—"

Jessa reached out to stop her with a heavy sigh.  "No, Myrna, it's fine.  I'll not agree to marry someone just to get the estate released.  It wouldn't matter, anyway, since I'd have no say over it, regardless—my _husband_ would."

Myrna snorted.  "Yeah, well, we'll see about that.  I'm calling Cain.  There's no way he'll stand for this . . ."

Jessa sighed and shook her head as she started back down the hallway toward her room again.  She just wanted to be alone—to be alone, and to stop thinking, stop worrying, stop pining . . . The headache she was nursing had suddenly blossomed into a full-out symphony of pain . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ashur took his time, pouring two snifters of cognac, before handing one to Devlin and sitting on the chair diagonally from the sofa.  He'd called him earlier to ask him to come by.  There were just too many questions, and, if Ashur had his way, Devlin was going to answer them.  The only problem he could see was that, whatever Devlin's true story was, he was very good at hiding it, and if he'd gone that far to cover up things, then just how willing would he be to admit to anything . . .?

Narrowing his gaze as he stared at the Brit, jaw shifting to the side as he sucked in a cheek, he frowned.

Devlin sighed, dragging a hand rather lazily through his hair.  "You want to know what I am," he said, as though it was a foregone conclusion.  He didn't seem surprised.  If anything, he seemed like he believed that the question was inevitable.

"Okay, then what are you?  I mean, I take it that you saved Kells and me, and yet, it wasn't some kind of anti-venom or antidote.  If it was, it wouldn't have taken either of us that long to recover.  Am I right?"

The look Devlin gave him was little more than a lifting of his eyes without moving his head as he leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands dangling limply between after he drained his drink and set the glass heavily on the coffee table.  The grey tee-shirt and rather worn jeans that made up his attire seemed completely at odds with the strange sort of glint in Devlin's gaze, as though he were trying to make up his mind about . . . something . . . "Can I trust you, Ashur?" he finally asked.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the man that he never made promises that he wasn't sure he could keep, but he knew, didn't he, that if he didn't give his word to keep whatever Devlin was going to say a secret that he wouldn't say anything at all.  "You can," he agreed.

Devlin sat back, or rather, flopped back, letting out a deep breath as he hit the back of the sofa.  "We've hidden it . . . my whole life," he explained in an almost apologetic sort of tone.  "My mother's family, you see . . . They were all killed when she was an infant—burned alive, the lot of them, along with a couple hundred others, most of whom were targeted out of vendetta or for happening to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  They called it the Salem Witch Trials."

Ashur blinked, unable to keep the hint of derision out of his voice.  "Your mother's people . . . were . . . witches?"

"Bloody hell," Devlin grouched.  "Ain't no such thing as witches, Ash.  You know that well enough, don't you?  My mother's family were the last of them—some, anyway.  Not everyone was, but they were guilty by association, too.  Mum was saved by her aunt, who ran away with her before she could be captured, too.  She promised my grandmother."  He shrugged.  "My aunt is different, though.  She was a stoat-youkai, just like my grandmother was.  Mum took after her father's side, and I . . . I did, too . . ."

"Stoat-youkai are fairly common," Ashur remarked, standing to retrieve Devlin's glass since he looked like he could use another drink.

"They are," Devlin agreed.  "My father knew what Mum was the moment he saw her, so he arranged to have her as his mate—paid my aunt a bit of gold . . ."

"So . . . the white hair?  The green eyes?  That's what you really look like, isn't it?" Ashur asked as he handed the refilled drink over and sat back down.

Devlin stared at him for a long moment, draining the glass for the second time and setting it aside, as though he were trying to make up his mind.  In the end, he gave a succinct nod and removed his concealment.  "I'm a light-youkai," he said.

Ashur blinked, stared, shook his head as though to refute Devlin's outrageous claim.  "No . . . I mean, that's not possible.  The light-youkai . . . They're extinct."

"As far as I know, Mum and I . . . We're the last of them, yes."

Ashur scowled, trying to make sense of what Devlin had said.  Anything he'd ever heard about light-youkai was vague, most of it little more than legend and myth.  He thought he remembered reading before that the light-youkai had been driven to extinction by hunting.  Some had heard that they could harness the powers of the light youkai by eating their hearts, still warm from their bodies, and they were pursued relentlessly by both human and youkai alike.  Add to that, the fact that they were said to have been a recessive form, born only one time to a pair of mates—unless both mates were either recessive or both the same, and it wasn't entirely surprising that they had been lost to the annals of history and lore—except, apparently, for two of them . . .

"A light-youkai . . ." he mused.  "You really _did_ heal us, then . . ."

Devlin slowly nodded.  "I . . ." He grimaced.  "It was _Kells_ , and when Irish called, she was . . . It was a blood-viper-youkai.  There's no antidote on earth that can effectively counter their venom," he went on.  "I could tell from the bite wound.  The fangs are farther apart than any of the other vipers.  I saw it once on a falcon that I found on my father's estate back home . . ."  He let out a deep breath, grimaced again.  "It was _Kells_ ," he reiterated.  "Irish loves that boy more than . . . more than just about anything . . . and then, it was you, too . . ."

Ashur grunted. "Thanks for that," he replied, draining his snifter.  "But . . . if it's so dangerous for others to find out about you—about what you are—why are you here?  I mean, why not stay in England where you're relatively safe?  I take it that if your father knows what your mother is, then isn't he trying to protect the both of you?"

Devlin chuckled, but the sound didn't actually seem amused in the least.  Standing abruptly, he held his hand out for Ashur's empty glass before ambling over to refill them again.  "Oh, he . . . he does," he muttered, his tone drier than usual.  "I . . . I chose to leave, and I didn't tell him that I was, either.  Mum caught me and begged me to bring her with me, and what could I really say to that?  She _is_ my mum, after all . . ."

"Chose to leave?" Ashur echoed, accepting the refilled snifter.  "Why?"

This time, Devlin sighed as he plopped back down on the sofa and downed the contents of the glass for the third time.  "He was trying to arrange my marriage," he admitted.  "I told him that I wouldn't marry her, regardless of who she was, and he said that I would or that he'd make me, which is . . . ludicrous, actually . . ."

"Arranged . . . marriage . . ." Ashur repeated, the wheels in his head slowing to a snail's pace as he slowly, slowly shook his head.  "To who?"

Devlin shrugged.  "I don't know.  I didn't stick around to find out, if you want the truth."

Ashur grunted.  "Who . . . Who's your father?"  Devlin shot him a chagrined sort of look, and Ashur shook his head.  "I'm not going to tell him.  I just . . . I need to know."

Devlin seemed to think about that for a few seconds, claws clinking idly against the crystal snifter in his hands.  Ashur supposed that he could understand Devlin's reticence, especially since he'd gone to such lengths to get away from his father, in the first place.  Even so . . .  "I trust you," he finally said, leveling another serious look at Ashur.  "His name is Carl Kingston—the Duke of Portsmouth—if you want his formal title."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** xSerenityx020 ——— Usagiseren05
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda+Gauger ——— minthegreen ——— zotebuxuno ——— Okmeamithinknow ——— monsterkittie
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— monsterkittie ——— lianned88 ——— lovethedogs ——— cutechick18
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _He's … Nooooo_ …
> 
>  


	55. Preoccupation

"His name is Carl Kingston—the Duke of Portsmouth—if you want his formal title."

Ashur stared at Devlin, almost dumbfounded for a moment.  "Your _father_ . . . is Carl Kingston—the same Carl Kingston who is trying to make you marry Jessa . . .?"

It was Devlin's turn to stare, his snifter of cognac poised just below his lips.  He blinked once, twice, then suddenly, barked out a terse laugh.  "Sorry.  Could've sworn you just said that my father wants me to marry Irish . . ."

"I did say that," he stated.

Devlin shook his head.  "Yeah, that won't be happening.  Don't get me wrong, absolutely adore the gel, but . . . but she's like my younger sister, and . . . I mean, if I had younger a sister, then I imagine that it'd be the same feeling, and there's no way on earth I'd mate a girl like that . . . We'd end up, giggling nervously on our wedding night, afraid to look at each other's bits, so that's not good . . ."

Ashur failed to see the amusement that Devlin apparently did, given the situation.  "Somehow, I have the feeling that he doesn't actually give a great goddamn if you want to or not," he growled.

Devlin snorted.  "Be that as it may, he can't really force me to mate or marry anyone, even if he thinks he can.  At present, he's just trying to get me to come home by attempting to cut off my access to funds, which doesn't work a'tall, since I have the money my great aunt left me—the money he paid for Mum, actually—that has done nothing but gain interest and grow to outlandish proportions since my great aunt died a century ago."

"But you're not nearly that old."

He nodded.  "True, but she found out things bout m'father after he'd suckered her into allowing his marriage to Mum, and then, she set up her money in trust for Mum's light-born—me—before she died."  He turned a little thoughtful and gave a curt shrug.  "Mum always thought it was strange, the way my aunt died.  I don't know the particulars, but she doesn't like to talk about it—almost like she's afraid of something . . ."

Ashur digested that in silence, though he'd be lying if he tried to say that he cared, one way or the other, about Devlin's deceased aunt . . . "So, if your father's a duke, why in the hell does he want access to Jessa's estate?  Is he broke or something?"

"Good God, no!" Devlin exclaimed rather dryly as he tossed back the cognac and set the glass on the table.  "He's got more money than he knows what to do with—and he's constantly lording that over all of us, too.  He's doubtless informed his people to let him know the very second I try to access any of it, which is why I've gone and checked into a few places around the world—just enough to keep him looking where I'm not . . . But he knows nothing about my inheritance, so that money's safe from his all-knowing eyes."

Ashur shook his head, wondering if he really ought to say what was going through his head.  On the one hand, Devlin hadn't given them any reason not to trust him, but questioning the things that were forefront in Ashur's mind . . . Well, he wasn't entirely sure that he knew how the light-youkai would take it . . . "Dev . . . is your father capable of murder?"

He wasn't entirely sure, what kind of reaction he expected from Devlin.  He supposed, if he were to stop and consider it, he might have thought he'd react with a measure of disbelief, maybe even some level of hostility for daring to imply such a thing.  As it was, however, Devlin sat back, shot Ashur what could only be described as a rueful kind of half-smile, half-wince, as he gave a curt shrug and sighed.  "Isn't anyone capable of murder, given the right impetus?" he countered quietly.  "As for . . . _him_ . . .?" Slowly, deliberately, lifting his gaze, meeting Ashur's with an understated sense of sadness, of weariness, Devlin pressed his lips together for a moment.  "He killed my aunt, Ash.  I should think that speaks volumes."

"I thought you said—"

"I'm not stupid, you know?  I can fully interpret what my mother refused to say.  I don't know why or any of the actual details, but I know—I can tell—that Mum absolutely believes that my father had something to do with it, so . . . Do I think he's capable of murder?  I _know_ he is.  Why do you ask?"

Rubbing his forehead, he scowled at the floor before bracing himself on his knees and pushing himself to his feet.  "The accident report on Jessa's mother's car . . . There's something weird about it all, and her father swore that it was no accident . . ." he ventured as he retrieved Devlin's glass and refilled the two snifters.

"What?"

Ashur handed Devlin back his glass before settling into his chair once more.  "There's reason to believe that the gas lines were tampered with.  The annual inspection report is missing, but Bas found out that the guy who had done the inspection to start with, indicated that there wasn't a thing wrong with the lines when he'd checked the car mere days before the accident occurred.  Her parents knew of the offer for her hand, but they'd refused on her behalf, and then her mother started trying to find her a mate . . . It's like they knew something was going on, and they were doing their best to stop it before anything happened . . ."

"And . . . And you think my father had something to do with this," Devlin concluded quietly, then he grimaced.  "Of course, you do . . . _Damn_ . . ."

"I'm . . . I'm sorry, Dev.  I thought  you ought to know.  I mean, you . . . you care about Jessa, too, and . . ."

Shooting to his feet, he paced the length of the living room and back a few times before he finally stopped, before he finally pivoted on his heel to face Ashur once more.  "I'm going home," he stated flatly.

"Okay, um . . . Can we talk in a day or two?"  He sighed.  "I wasn't trying to dump all of this on you.  I just thought—"

"No, I mean, back to England," he said.  "I'm going to find out from him—Everything."

Shooting to his feet, he strode after Devlin as he stomped toward the doorway, grabbing his shoulder to stop him.  "Wait . . . I appreciate that you want answers.  We all do, but if you go walking in there, asking questions . . . He could turn on you, too, just as easily, couldn't he?"

Devlin snorted.  "I'm not afraid of that sad old bastard," he insisted.

Ashur shook his head.  "Yeah, well, can you even fight?  Not that I'm trying to insult you, but . . . can you?"

Devlin opened his mouth to reply, but snapped it closed as a rather telling flush surfaced in his cheeks.  "Not for lack of trying," he grumbled.  "My father wouldn't kill me," he maintained stubbornly.  "I'm too _valuable_."

Ashur crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly and shook his head again.  "I'd rather not find out for sure, Dev."

Devlin looked entirely put upon for a moment, then shook his head and sighed.  "You know, you almost sounded like you like me there . . ."

"Jessa likes you, therefore, I tolerate you."

Devlin rubbed his forehead, but he did stride around Ashur, only to flop onto the sofa once more.  "Irish . . ." he mused.  "You're going after her, aren't you?"

Ashur grunted as he stalked back over and took up the empty snifters once more.  "She's fine, I'm sure."

"You're . . . sure . . .?  You mean, she hasn't called you."

Frowning at Devlin's statement—it wasn't a question—he turned on his heel to face the light-youkai.  "How do you know?"

Devlin stood up, came around to take his snifter from Ashur's slack hand.  He seemed to be considering something, and then, he sighed.  "She's not coming back, you know."

Ashur narrowed his gaze.  "She's . . . She's on vacation; that's all."

Devlin drained his snifter, set it on the wetbar.  "Actually, she's not," he admitted.  "Can't you feel it?  It's your house, and even _I_ can feel it—the emptiness.  If you don't believe me, check her room."  Patting Ashur on the shoulder, he turned to leave again.  "Give me a call if you have any more questions," he called back as he opened the door and stepped outside.

Ashur scowled at the closed door, draining his drink before slamming the glass onto the counter, before striding through the living room and up the stairs.  No, he hadn't gone into her room, not since she'd left, and why?  Afraid that the feel of her things, the smell of her that lived in that room . . . Maybe he should have checked days ago . . .

Stopping at the closed door, he slowly reached out, but jerked his hand back.  Something about it felt just a little too foreboding, didn't it?  A little . . .

Drawing a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever truths he might find if he opened that door, he slowly reached out and grasped the handle . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Frowning at the over-flounced, over-ruffled, over-princess-ed dress Myrna had immediately pulled off the rack when they'd entered the ridiculously over-priced shop that seemed to cater to girls and women who suffered from princess complexes and sugar plum fairy dreams, Jessa slowly but curtly shook her head.  The one that Myrna was currently trying to get her to try on looked like an upside down flower in very pale shades of pink and reminded Jessa of the kind of dresses that her mother had always tried to force upon her . . .

"Myrna, would you wear that?" Jessa asked, knowing the answer before she even uttered the question.

Myrna raised an eyebrow.  "I'm a little too old for something like this," she mused.

Jessa sighed.  "I'd rather look for something a little less . . ."  She trailed off, unable to think of a good way to put it.  "Anyway, you said it was a dinner party, didn't you?  So, isn't that a little impractical for something like that?"

"But you'd look so sweet in it!" Myrna insisted.

Jessa shook her head.  "I'll try it on if you do, too."

Myrna opened her mouth to argue with her, then snapped it shut and sighed.  "All right, you win," she muttered, jamming the dress back onto the rack where she'd found it, much to Jessa's relief.

"Why are we going to this thing, anyway?" she asked as she moved off to look at a different rack of less ridiculous evening gowns.

Myrna sighed as she looked through a rack next to Jessa.  "Because Gin Zelig asked me, and you cannot say no to that particular woman."

"Because she's the tai-youkai's wife?"

Myrna snorted.  "Nope, because she's ridiculously cute, almost disgustingly sweet—so sweet that if you say no to her, you can't help but feel like an ass—not just part of the ass, either—the whole damn enchilada.  I think it's her super power . . ."

Jessa almost smiled.  "That bad?"

"You've met her, haven't you?   She's hanyou, you know?  So, she has these cute little puppy ears, and if you say no, she flattens them—like, straight out to the sides, both sides.  It's horrible!  I tell you, that woman is far more formidable than her mate and her son, combined . . . If you even _think_ about declining her personal invitation, you feel like this fifty-foot ogre, stomping on her dreams—or clipping her fairy wings, whichever . . ."

Jessa's lips twitched.  "And that's why you agreed to go?  But why do I have to?  I mean, it sounds rather boring, if you ask me . . . A bunch of stuffy people, hobnobbing with a bunch of other stuffier people in a gorgeous, I'm sure, but very stuffy formal ballroom or something . . ."

Myrna sighed.  "Because I mentioned that you were staying with me for a little while, figuring I could use you as an excuse, right?  Wrong, and you know why?  Because she wants to get to know a _real_ lady!'"  She narrowed her gaze on Jessa for added emphasis.  "You _cannot_ destroy her dreams, _Lady_ O'Shea . . ."

Jessa gasped.  "Oh, you _didn't_ . . ."

She nodded slowly.  "Totally did."

Jessa sighed, too.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Staring around Jessa's empty bedroom with a scowl on his face, his arms crossed over his chest, Ashur hesitated before stepping into the room, sensing yet again, that almost cloying emptiness that lived in the rest of the house, too, only here, in this place where she'd spent far more time, that same sense was . . .

' _It's . . . overwhelming, isn't it . . .?_ '

Everything was in order, everything was neat, tidy, almost eerily so.  The dresser with the shining mirror . . . The curtains over the French doors that she'd so carefully drawn back, caught up in the fabric ties . . . The bed that looked like she'd never touched it, never laid in it . . . A surge of memory, of the first time they'd made love, flashed through his head, but it was tinged with a sadness, a sense of finality that wasn't there at the time . . .

It took a minute for him to understand, just what it was he felt, and when he did, he winced, biting his cheek hard as he slumped against the door frame.  It was the sense that it was . . . was over, wasn't it . . .?  That Jessa . . .

Dragging his gaze off the bed, he started to glance over the nightstand, only to stop, to shift his eyes back.  Pushing away from the frame, he strode forward, picked up her phone.  She'd left it behind on purpose, and all the calls, all the texts he'd sent her . . .

She hadn't gotten a damn one of them, and he groaned, lifting the phone, letting it rest against his forehead.

Just what the hell was going on?

A sudden thought occurred to him, and before he could question it, he strode over, threw open her closet door, blinked at the clothes—even her riding clothes—all hung so neatly inside, with a small gap, a sad-looking mass of empty hangers.  Every bit of the clothing inside, he'd bought for her—the dress he'd bought for the dinner cruise, the one she'd worn to the theatre, the one she'd worn out to dinner with him . . .

Slamming the door shut, he stomped to the dresser, yanked open the drawers.  It was the same—everything he'd ever given her: she'd left it all behind, including the earrings, the other jewelry . . .

But . . . But why . . .?

"She thinks she's . . . _convenient_ , Ash."

Turning at the sound of that voice, Ashur narrowed his eyes on Devlin where he stood in the open doorway, an inscrutable look in his eyes.

He shrugged.  "I forgot my phone," he explained, digging it out of his pocket and shaking it for added emphasis.

"What do you know?" Ashur asked quietly.

Devlin sighed.  "She . . . She didn't want me to tell you.  She didn't want me to tell you a damn thing, so . . ." Cocking his head to the side, shaking his long bangs out of his face, he seemed to be considering his options, and, in the end, he sighed.  "I'll tell you what I know if you'll answer one question—just one."

Jaw ticking as he struggled to keep a lid on his rapidly spiraling irritation, Ashur nodded once.  "Okay."

Stepping past him and into the bright bedroom, Devlin wandered over, touched the lace doily where the music box used to sit.  "How do you feel about her?  About Irish?"

Erupting in a low growl, Ashur gritted his teeth.  "Isn't it obvious?" he countered.

"Would I be asking if it were?  Humor me, will you?"

Tamping down the desire to light into Devlin on sheer principle, Ashur had to count to twenty-five before answering.  "I . . . I care about her—a lot," he muttered, refusing to acknowledge anything more—not to anyone other than Jessa.

"Surely you can do better than that, Ashur," Devlin goaded.

"That's all you need to know," he growled.

Devlin nodded.  "Then I will assume that your true feelings run a bit deeper than what you just told me."

Ashur didn't agree or deny the assertion, and Devlin nodded again.

"Didn't take anything with her that you gave her, did she?"

' _Twenty-six . . . twenty-seven . . . twenty-eight . . ._ ' Ashur cleared his throat.  "No, she . . . She didn't . . ."

Devlin shrugged—an offhanded kind of bob of his shoulders.  "Did you notice?  That music box is gone.  You gave her that, right?  For her birthday, she said . . ."

Frown deepening as he realized that Devlin was right, he shook his head, unable to make sense of that.  Why?  Why would she take that, but leave everything else . . .?

"She told me . . ." Devlin went on, his ambivalence coming through in his tone, and he sighed.  "She said you gave her things after you . . . after you were intimate, like . . . payment—her words, not mine.  All those things felt dirty to her, and after the things she heard you say, she—"

"Things?  What things?" Ashur growled, tamping down the urge to light into Devlin.

"The day you left," he replied.  If he noticed the hostility fairly radiating off of Ashur, he gave no indication.  "She overheard you on the phone.  You said some . . . things that weren't very complimentary."

He grunted, temper spiraling fast out of his control.  "Of course, I did!  It was that bastard, Mormount!  Was I supposed to tell him something different?  Give him the impetus to come after her?  Damn it, why didn't she tell me?"

"Oh, come now, Ashur!  Surely you don't have to ask that, given what I've told you!  Do you forget?  She's eighteen years old—just a child—one who has spent her life, being scorned and ridiculed by her peers—one who lost the only family she has—one who never, ever realized just who she was or what value she has as a woman because she's never _been_ a woman before—not in a way that would reinforce her own confidence . . ." Turning on his heel, he leveled a baleful glower at Ashur, light green eyes flashing, almost glowing, in the light filtering through the French doors.  "She came to you, a child.  You turned her into a woman for yourself, but you never, ever taught her how to be one outside of the bedroom . . . Now, my question for you, Ashur, is, what the hell are you going to do about it?"

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Goldeninugoddess ——— Silent Reader
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda+Gauger ——— Okmeamithinknow ——— Savvyrae ——— minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— lianned88 ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _Jessa_ …


	56. One-Sided

" _She came to you, a child.  You turned her into a woman for yourself, but you never, ever taught her how to be one outside of the bedroom . . . Now, my question for you, Ashur, is, what the hell are you going to do about it?_ "

Staring out the wall of windows that overlooked the back yard of the New York City townhouse, Ashur still didn't have an answer for that question.  On top of that, when he'd dropped Kells off at preschool yesterday morning and told him that Manami would be staying with him through the weekend, that she'd pick him up after school, the boy hadn't even bothered to look at him as he'd turned and trudged into the building without even a hug goodbye . . .

He'd been thinking about that question for the last day and a half, ever since it was presented to him.  Was it even possible to undo the damage that had already been done?  He sighed.  If he could go back in time, if he could stop her from having overheard that conversation . . . But that wasn't really where it had all gone crazy, was it?  If what Devlin had said was real, then the problem had started well before that, even if he really wasn't sure just where it had all gone awry.

Buying her things, giving her little gifts that he thought would please her . . . They had nothing at all do to with the things she did for him—with him.  All he'd wanted to do was to make her smile, to hear her laughter, and somehow . . . That the gifts had the opposite effect?  That was something that hadn't even crossed it mind . . .

' _Maybe it should have . . ._ '

' _Yeah, or maybe you sensed it, but you just ignored it, too._ '

He grimaced at the deadly accuracy of his youkai-voice.  And yet, a part of him had known it all along, hadn't he?  That last night when she'd come to him . . . In her own way, she was saying goodbye, and a part of him had heard it, even if he hadn't wanted to acknowledge it.  The desperation in her every breath, in her every reaction . . . He'd felt it that night on some level . . . Those tears in her eyes, and he'd thought . . .

Just what the hell had he done . . .?

Leaning his raised elbow against the window frame, he sighed.  So lost in his own rioting emotions, in the things that she made him feel, he hadn't stopped to think, not when it mattered.

' _First things first, Kyouhei.  Let's get through this damned dinner and gala first.  Then we'll march over there and demand that Jessa listen._ '

' _Listen?  To what?  What the hell am I supposed to say to her to make her want to come back home?_ '

' _Don't be stupid, Kyouhei.  Tell her whatever you need to tell her to get her to believe you, for starters.  Stop keeping her at arm's length and let her in or you're going to lose her for real because you know, don't  you?  It won't matter, where you go, how long you live, you're never, ever going to find another woman like her . . ._ '

' _You think I don't know that?_ ' he shot back.  ' _I do!  I wouldn’t want to find another woman—_ any _woman.  Jessa . . . She's my . . ._ ' Eyes flaring wide as the truth of what he'd almost admitted sank in, he let his forehead fall against the back of his hand.  ' _She's . . . my . . ._ '

' _You can say it, you know,_ ' his youkai replied.  ' _You're not wrong._ '

He grimaced.  ' _She's my—_ '

The trill of the doorbell cut through his thoughts, and he let out a long sigh as he pushed away from the window and strode off to answer it.

"Dude, how's it goin'?"

Blinking with a frown as he stared at the silver-haired youkai before him, Ashur stepped back to allow Evan Zelig to enter.  He'd only actually met him a handful of times before, and none of them were much more than a quick introduction or a hurried hello.  "Evan . . . what brings you by?"

Evan chuckled, sapphire eyes so like his father's sparkling with his good humor.  "I'm playing errand boy for Mama today," he admitted.  "She's so busy with last minute shit, she didn't have time to come over."

"I see . . ." he said, even though he really didn't.

Evan's grin widened.  "Well, see, it's like this, Ash—can I call you, 'Ash'?"

"It's fine," he replied with a flick of his hand.  Leading the way into the living room, he motioned at the wetbar.  "Would you like something to drink?"

"Eh, I probably shouldn't.  V doesn't like it when I get hammered before—" he checked his watch and chuckled, "—noon."

Gesturing to the sofa, Ashur sat down in a nearby chair.  "So, was there something your mother wanted?"

"Well, actually, yeah, there is," he said, settling on the edge of the sofa, knee bobbing up and down with an almost nervous kind of energy.  "One of the bachelors she had lined up backed out at the last minute due to a death in the family, so Mama was wondering if you'd be interested in filling in.  I mean, objectively speaking, you're hot . . ."

Ashur arched an eyebrow at Evan.

Evan laughed.  "I'm a guy!  I notice these things!"

He opened his mouth to point out that most guys really didn't notice that kind of thing, but he let it go, figuring it probably wasn't worth the effort.  "Uh, I'm . . . I'm not really interested . . ."

Evan sighed.  "Yeah, that's kind of what I figured you'd say.  I mean, most guys don't really think that taking some random woman on a charity date sounds like their idea of a rockin' time.  I even told Mama that you'd probably say no . . ."

Ashur shook his head.  "I know it's for a good cause," he went on.  "I just don't think it's a good idea.  I'm kind of . . ."

Evan's eyes widened.  "You've already got a woman, huh?"

"Uh . . ."

He chuckled, dragging his hand through his hair.  "Is she hot?"  Evan laughed again and held up his hands in a purely defensive manner when Ashur glowered at him.  "I'm sure she is," he relented.  "But she's not your mate yet, right?"

"No," he forced himself to say, unsure why he was even admitting that much to this particular Zelig.

"Are you bringing her with you to the dinner and gala?  If so, I'll be happy to tell Mama.  I don't think she was aware or she wouldn't have asked me to talk to you . . ."

Ashur sighed, leaning to the side, propping his temple in his fingertips.  "It's not like that," he grumbled.  "Anyway, she's not here with me at the moment.  She's staying with Myrna for a couple weeks . . ."

"I see," Evan said as he considered that.  "Would she have a problem with you being auctioned off?"

"Probably not," Ashur muttered.  Considering she was already convinced that he didn't want her, he highly doubted that much of anything could make it worse than it already was, but even then, he really wasn't interested in the legendary bachelor's auction, either . . .

"All right, then here's the deal," Evan said as he dug his phone out of his pocket.  He fiddled with it for a minute before handing it over.

Ashur frowned at the video that he'd cued up, and, against his better judgment, he pushed, 'play' . . .

Gin Zelig's pretty face appeared on the screen, and Ashur very nearly sighed out loud . . . " _Hi, Ashur!  It's me, Gin, and I wanted to ask you if you'd please, please, please consider filling in for Bachelor Number Ten?  Please?  Pretty please?  Pretty please?  If you agree, I swear, I'll owe you!  Huge!  Big!  So, so big!  Even bigger than Cain's big dog—_ "

" _Gin!_ " Cain Zelig exclaimed, and, from the proximity of his voice, he was probably the one doing the filming.

The woman blinked innocently.  " _Was there something wrong with what I said?_ "

Cain didn't answer, but there was a very long, very loud sigh.

Gin waved her hands quickly.  " _Oh, and before you say no, if you won't, I . . . I understand . . . It's just that it's mostly for children, and since you're a daddy, you understand just how important it is that we help these babies, don't you?_ "  As she spoke, her hanyou-ears flatted out, pointing straight in opposite directions, and Ashur grimaced.

That was entirely unfair, as far as Ashur was concerned.  ' _Talk about hitting below the belt . . ._ '  He made a face.  "All right," he grumbled, heaving a loud sigh of his own.  "I . . . I'll do it . . ."

Evan laughed.  "Flattened her ears, did she?"

Ashur shot Evan a quelling glance.  The damned man had the gall to laugh.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Hey, Mama.  I'm back!" Evan called as he breezed into the Zelig townhouse.

"My baby," she greeted happily, rising up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek as he leaned down.  "Did you talk to Ashur?"

"I did," he said, scooping up his youngest sister as she bounced around his feet with her arms held high in the air.  "Hey, monkey!  Did you miss me?"

Daniella giggled and kissed Evan's other cheek.  "Yeah," she said, her voice quiet and soft.

"What did he say?"

"Well, he did agree to it—after he watched your video—I knew that was a great idea."

"Oh, good!  I mean, he's a very good-looking man—almost as good-looking as all my boys!" Gin insisted.

Evan chuckled.  "Yeah, but . . . Did you invite Myrna and her houseguest to the dinner and gala?"

Scanning through the lists she had compiled in a Slim-File, Gin nodded absently.  "Myrna?  Oh, of course!  She's got her cousin staying with her.  I mean, she was staying with Ashur, but she's visiting with Myrna at the moment, so sure, I invited them both . . ."

Evan thought that over and nodded as he scratched his chin and let Daniella down to run off.  "You, uh, know anything about those two?  Ashur and Myrna's cousin?"

"Oh, not really . . . She's Kells' nanny—at least, until her estate is worked out . . . A really beautiful girl . . ."

"Yeah?  You have a picture?"

Gin glanced up from the Slim-File and smiled as she nodded at her phone, lying on the coffee table.  "There's a couple in there," she said.  "Charity took pictures during Kells' birthday party . . . She's the red-head."

Evan grabbed his mother's phone and flipped through the pictures, only to whistle low when he located one of a drop-dead gorgeous red-head, holding Kells on her lap as she smiled at the camera.  "Wow . . . She's damn hot . . ."

"Oh, she is," Valerie Zelig remarked, peering around Evan's arm at the phone.  "Why are you looking at other women, Roka?" she asked in a rather bored tone.

"He said they're not mates yet, but . . ." Evan shrugged.  "Something in his tone . . ."

Gin blinked, setting the file down as she stared at her son.  "Really?  Oh, those two would be just beautiful together . . .!"

"I don't know, Mama.  Maybe you should check the seating chart—make sure that she's next to him, don't you think?"

"You're right," Gin agreed, retrieving the Slim-File once more.  "I'll call Chelsea and let her know . . ."

Evan chuckled, slipping an arm around his mate.  "You know, he has no idea she's going to this thing."

Valerie frowned.  "Should you tell him?"

"Well, no one told us that the other was going to be there the year we went," he pointed out.

She snorted indelicately.  "Yeah, and _that_ wasn't a _complete_ and utter disaster . . ."

He kissed her temple.  "What are you talking about?  We're together now, aren't we?"

"You're so weird, Roka.  You and your selective memory . . . Why are you so weird?"

He chuckled, bumping the tip of her nose with his.  "I dunno, V . . . Why were you in my bushes . . .?"

"Jerk."

"But you love me."

She sighed, but finally smiled.  "Yeah, I do.  I don't know why, but I do . . ."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Myrna tells me that you're currently working as a nanny."

Jessa turned her head slightly, trying to make sense of what Justin Darwin was trying to say to her over the din of the music in the club.  Somehow, she'd let Myrna talk her into another blind date, and it had only taken her about two minutes to realize that it was yet another mistake.  Oh, sure, Justin was nice enough—an investment banker—and he was cute, too, in a very upstanding, squeaky clean kind of way.  Black hair cut short and sleek—undoubtedly a daily pain, given that the lamprey-youkai likely had to cut it daily, or maybe it was a part of his concealment, Jessa didn't rightfully know—swarthy, dark in a Spanish kind of way, and not one hair out of place, not one wrinkle in the man's black silk shirt . . . He was almost too perfect, wasn't he?  Like he'd stumbled out of GQ magazine or maybe off a billboard ad for men's hygiene products . . . "Pardon?"

He smiled and leaned in a little closer.  "Myrna says that you work as a nanny," he repeated.

"Oh . . . I . . . I was," she explained, unable to control the pang that shot through her at the very thought of Kells' sweet face.

Justin nodded, as though he understood.  "Kids can be kind of a lot to deal with," he allowed.  "Not your thing?"

"I . . . I enjoyed it very much," she clarified, unable to keep the brusque tone out of her voice.  "I wasn't needed . . . anymore . . ."

He laughed, but to Jessa, it sounded like a perfunctory kind of thing—the sort of laugh that was indulgent, at best.

' _Or maybe it's all in your head, lass.  Give the poor guy a fair shake, can't you?  Okay, so he's not Ashur, but to be honest?  There's really no way any other man is going to be . . ._ '

Somehow, the words of her youkai-voice really didn't do a thing to reassure her.  If anything, she felt just a little worse for that . . .

He didn't seem to notice her preoccupation at all, however, and whether that was a blessing or not, Jessa wasn't entirely certain . . . "So, are you interested in going to college?  Get yourself a real career?"

"Oh, I . . . I hadn't really thought about it much yet . . ." she allowed, which was true enough.  Given how much of her time was spent, thinking about those she'd left behind, she hadn't really considered her future much, if at all . . .

"You know, if I can make a suggestion?  Investment banking is really the way to go.  I know, I know, it sounds horrible and boring, and sometimes, it can be, but really?  As far as earning potential?  The sky's the limit if you're willing to work hard and dedicate yourself to it.  Just last month, I was in the Bahamas for a meeting with one of my clients—the Bahamas, all fully paid out of the business account at work . . . And, if I may say?  A girl like you?  Seems like something you'd enjoy."

"I . . . I haven't really given it much thought," she repeated, hating the hint of weakness in her voice, hating the sultry air of the club.  Too many people in too small of a place, it all culminated in a rather unpleasant heat, humidity, despite the air conditioner that struggled to keep up with the rising temperatures.

He chuckled.  "It's never too early to think about these things.  Your future's important.  If you don't take the time now to secure it—a great job with great pay and awesome benefits—then you're doing yourself a great disservice.  You know, I know the dean of admissions at NYU.  I could see what I can do about pulling a few strings, maybe calling in a few favors . . ."

She tried to smile; she really did.  It probably came off as more of a grimace, because the tolerant little smile was back on his face, and she stifled a sigh.  "Uh, Mr. Darwin, that's awfully kind of you, but I really don't think that this is working out," she said, wincing inwardly at her own lack of tact, given the situation.  "You're a lovely man,  but . . . I think I should go."

Stumbling to her feet, she turned to go, only to stop abruptly when Justin grasped her wrist.  Turning to pin him with a questioning look, he smiled rather apologetically and let go of her.  "At least let me see you home," he said, shoulders bobbing in a curt shrug.

"Oh, no, I wouldn't want to trouble you," she insisted.  "I'll just . . . just get a taxi.  It's fine."

He didn't look like he wanted to let her go, though whether it was simply his sense of propriety or something else, she didn't know, and honestly, didn't really care.  The club was stifling, he was stifling . . . Her head was starting to throb with a rhythm that was highly unwelcome and entirely unpleasant, and she just wanted some room to breathe . . . "Let me at least pay for your cab," he offered.

"You really don't have to," she insisted as he slipped a hand onto the small of her back and carefully maneuvered her through the crowded club.  "I'll be fine," she insisted, stifling a sigh.

The air outside the club wasn't much better than the rather humid air inside, but at least the sound was dulled, replaced by the sounds of the city that all blended together into a white noise.

Justin stepped forward, raising a hand to hail a cab.  He opened the door for her and smiled.  "I'm sorry things didn't work out," he said as she slipped into the vehicle.  "It was nice meeting you, Jessa."

"Thank you," she replied as he closed the door.  He dropped some money through the front passenger window, leaning down to peer at the driver.  "The Skyplex on the corner of Madison and East Sixtieth Street," he said, then tapped on the top of the cab as he stepped back away from the curb.

The driver pulled into the line of traffic, inching along the street.  "Could you just let me off on the next block?" Jessa asked, needing out of the car, needing some space, some relative freedom, needing to breathe.

The driver nodded and pulled over.  He started to hand the extra cash over the seat, and she shook her head. "Keep it," she said as she stepped out and closed the door.

She wasn't far from Myrna's, anyway, and the sinking sun cast a golden sort of light over everything, and yet, no matter where she looked, which way she turned, she saw nothing at all—nothing but buildings and stone and concrete and asphalt . . .

It was cloying, wasn't it?  Funny, how she'd never noticed that before.  Maybe she was simply too lost in her own misery at that time, and nothing else had a chance to permeate the shell she'd created around herself . . .

But . . . But Ashur and Kells . . . They had, hadn't they?  She'd allowed them in, made herself vulnerable, and now . . .

She'd be lying, wouldn't she?  If she tried to tell herself that a part of her didn't regret that—the part of her that ached and hurt and felt as though nothing in the world mattered anymore.  Where would she go?  What would she see?  In the days, in the months, in the years and centuries to come, just what was there in the world that she could see, experience, that might come even a little closer to everything she'd left behind . . .?

And yet, the future was a frightening thing—so near and so far away, and nothing in sight but a huge, black void and the echo of a child's laughter, of baby kisses and chubby-armed hugs . . . Of nights and darkness filled with the whispers of a closeness that she hadn't known before, the solitude of two hearts that beat in perfect sympathy with each other . . . of memories that were never really meant to be hers, to start with . . .

She wandered along the street, down the sidewalks that so many had walked before her, and how many of those people ever found true happiness, and of those few who did, how many were wise enough to hang onto it with both hands . . .? Did they realize just how lucky they were?  Did they understand the beauty of this precious thing they'd found?

But that part of her that so desperately wanted to go back, to return to that place that she knew, that she craved . . . It was growing stronger every single day, so much harder to ignore, so much thicker and more vindictive, tearing her wide open somewhere down deep—somewhere the naked eye couldn't see as the bits and pieces of her fell away, snippet by snipped, heartbeat by heartbeat . . . The part of her that was willing to go back, to beg, if need be . . . If he would just let her stay, would that be enough?  Even if he didn't love her—even if he'd _never_ love her . . . Even if his heart already belonged to someone else—someone who wasn't her . . . and never would be . . .

Because maybe, just maybe, a lifetime of that would be better than nothing at all . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** xSerenityx020 ——— Silent Reader
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda+Gauger ——— monsterkittie ——— Okmeamithinknow ——— minthegreen ——— ShiroNeko316
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— Crow ——— lianned88
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _One day at a time_ …
> 
>  


	57. Comedy of Errors

Jessa frowned at the people, milling around the reception area outside the formal dining hall in the eastern wing of the Renault-Estoria Plaza Hotel in Manhattan's Upper East Side near Central Park.  It was built a just a few years ago, or so she'd been told, one of the finest hotels anywhere in the world, they said.  Myrna had mentioned that Gin had opted to change the venue for the gala this year since the ballroom was so much larger than the one where they held the annual benefit before.  " _A thousand guests, easily_ ," Myrna had told her on the way to the hotel.  " _It'll be fun for one night, right?_ "

"Myrna Loy and guest," the usher read from the reservation book as he turned a smile on the women.  "May I see your invitation, please?"

Myrna handed it over and waited as the young man inspected the invitation and gave it back.  It took him another couple moments to check the seating chart before he finally nodded and held out a hand, gesturing at them to follow him.

The formal dining hall was a lush and lavish affair, decorated in beautiful shades of richer colors while retaining an overall neutral palate that added an overall coziness to what could have easily been an overwhelming space.  Following the usher that had greeted them upon their arrival at the doors to the hall, heels clicking lightly on the polished travertine floor, Jessa tried to ignore the curious stares, the inundation on her senses of so many youkai in one place at one time . . .

"Here you are, ladies . . . Enjoy your evening.  The waiter will be around shortly to get your drinks."

"Thank you," Myrna murmured while Jessa just nodded.  The man hurried away, and Jessa stifled a sigh as she sat down, careful not to wrinkle the skirt of the scarlet evening gown.

"I can't get over how gorgeous you are in that," Myrna commented, her gaze flicking up and down Jessa's frame, a lazy smile quirking her lips.  "Much better than that cutesy thing I tried to get you to try on . . ."

Jessa blushed, but smiled just a little.  "Thank you.  You look wonderful, too."

Myrna laughed.  "Oh, there's Gunnar.  I'll be right back," she said as she stood up and stepped behind the table, making her way around the perimeter of the room to intercept the tall, raven-haired hanyou who stood near the head of the room—the long tables aligned against a draped and sumptuous teal brocade and tulle backdrop.

Their table was situated in the far corner—rather appalling, really, given that Myrna had mentioned that the entire thing was being offered selectively with the price tag of $10,000.00 a seat.  It was all for charity, of course, but even so, it had still taken a moment for her to grasp that kind of money being spent on a dinner.

"Good evening, miss.  What can I get for you to drink?"

Blinking as she glanced up at the waitress, she bit her lip.  "Mineral water, please . . . and my cousin would like a glass of white wine."

The waitress nodded.  "I'll be right back!" she assured her as she hurried away.

Biting her lip, Jessa sighed inwardly.  Maybe the whole thing would be more fun than she thought.  The people filling the tables were so beautiful, so regal-looking, that, in a sense, they reminded her of the balls back home—or at least, the ones she'd been forced to attend.  There was a different kind of feel here, though.  It was more laid-back with less of the sense of urgency that tended to accompany those balls.  Maybe it was simply that the young ladies weren't trying to look for a potential husband.  That could very easily be the difference . . .

A man, a woman, and their two daughters were led to the table by the same usher who had showed them to their seats.  They nodded at Jessa in greeting as the man held the chair for his wife to sit.  "Daddy, do you think you could arrange it?" one of the girls—a very pretty mink youkai—said as she sat forward, unintentionally turning her back to Jessa as she leaned over her mother to speak.

The man seemed a little sidetracked as he gazed around the nearly full room.  "What's that, Amy?"

The girl sighed.  "Honestly, Daddy!  Sometimes I think you ignore me on purpose."

"Of course, I don't, princess."

Amy snorted.

"If you're going to arrange meetings, Dad, then I want one, too," Amy's sister added.  "He's absolutely gorgeous."

Daddy smiled at his daughters, each one in turn.  "Now, girls, you're not going to fight over some poor man, are you?"

"If he looks like that one?  Yeah, I think we might," the nameless daughter added.

"Forget it," Amy said stubbornly.  "I saw him first."

The other girl rolled her eyes, flicked a casual hand.  "Like it matters!  What does matter is who catches his attention, don't you think?"

Myrna slipped back into her chair and smiled as the waitress delivered their drinks.  "I'm going to have to ask Gin just how she managed to talk Gunnar into coming when he usually tries to avoid stuff like this," she said.  "Just look at him.  He's about ready to snap someone's head off . . ."

Jessa followed the direction that Myrna pointed, only to wince when she spotted Gunnar—and the very dark scowl on his face.  "Oh . . . That doesn't seem good, does it?"

Myrna laughed as she lifted her glass of wine.  "Not my problem, puss—not tonight."  Glancing across the table, her eyes widened.  "Jerry Baker!  You old scoundrel!  You mean, they actually talked you into leaving that iceberg you call home?"

"Myrna!" the man greeted, rising from his seat and hurrying around to give Myrna a hug and a kiss on the cheek.  "Well, it's not every day you get to meet someone as well-spoken-of as this one," he said.  "Tell me how they convinced you to come?  Didn't you say that you wouldn't attend one of these, not ever?"

Myrna laughed.  "Gin asked me," she explained.

Jerry nodded as he sat back down again.  "Myrna, I don't believe you've met my wife.  This is Karen and our daughters, Michelle and Amy.  Girls, this is Myrna Loy."

"Oh, so you're the Myrna that Jerry's talked about," Karen said with a very warm smile.  "Says you saved his life once?"

"He's exaggerating," Myrna insisted.  "Oh, and this is my cousin, Jessa.  She's here visiting for a bit, originally from Ireland."

"Pleased to meet you," she said.  Jerry and his wife smiled at her.  Michelle smiled, too, but it was a rather tight little smile.  Amy quirked her lips, but it was hardly any real kind of friendly expression.  For some reason, she felt as though they were sizing her up, that they had somehow found her lacking . . .

Brushing that silly notion away, Jessa nodded, but didn't say anything else.

Looking around at the people, she frowned.  What she's thought she'd noticed before was becoming increasingly obvious to her.  Strange, wasn't it?  She wasn't entirely sure what to make of it; not really . . . "Everyone's youkai," she murmured, leaning toward Myrna, speaking in a hushed tone.

Myrna nodded.  "Of course they are, sweetie.  They're here to meet Ashur."

The sound of that name made her heart stop for one long, dizzying moment, as her body seemed to seize on the spot, as her fingers went cold, and she could literally feel all the blood, draining out of her face . . .

"Do you know him?" Amy demanded, having overheard Jessa's question as well as Myrna's answer.

"Ashur?  Yes.  Jessa works—well, worked—for him as a nanny to his son."

She could feel the girl's gaze narrow on her, could sense the same kind of almost hostile curiosity coming from Michelle, too.

Jessa grimaced.  She . . . She couldn't be here, couldn't see him, look at him . . . The panic that surged inside her was thick, intense, almost debilitating.  All she knew was that seeing him . . . It would hurt . . . Knowing him as intimately as she did, knowing that she didn't dare approach him . . . She was right back to square one, wasn't she?  And the surging pain was almost more than she could bear.  No, she really, really couldn't do it again, couldn't look at him and smile and pretend that she wasn't utterly broken, and she grabbed her cousin's arm maybe a little harder than she meant to.  "M-Myrna, I don't feel—"

The unnatural hush that fell over the crowd cut her off, and Jessa gripped her temples between her fingertips as the lights over the tables dimmed, as the lights over the long tables at the front brightened.  She gasped softly as Ashur strode in, taking the last empty spot at the long table, directly beside Cain Zelig, who stood, microphone in hand.  The tai-youkai looked a little uncomfortable, but he cleared his throat and leaned down to say something to Ashur.  Then he chuckled before addressing the gathering.  "Uh, good evening, and welcome to my mate's little—or not so little—" Polite laughter from the guests.  "—dinner.  We thought it would be a good time to introduce you all to Canada's newest acting general, Mr. Ashur Philips."

Ashur stood and shook Cain's hand before giving a curt bow of his head and shoulders before sinking back into his chair once more.

Under the table, Jessa pressed a hand against her stomach in a futile effort to quell the surging roil of rioting emotions.  For one dizzying moment, he almost seemed to stare right at her, and she felt the world lurch around her, even as common sense assured her that she had to be imagining things, that there really was no way he'd know she was there . . . In a room of two hundred youkai where she sat in the back in the semi-darkness . . .

It just . . . It wasn't really possible at all . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"My daughter, Paige wants me to ask you to reserve the first dance for her."

Ashur choked on the wine he'd just sipped and shot Martin Sanstrom, the west coast general, a fulminating glower.  "Pardon?"

Martin chuckled and slapped him on the back.  "My daughter.  She wants to dance with you.  Apparently, you've caught her interest, so congratulations on that," he said rather dryly.

Ashur cleared his throat.  "I don't really dance," he muttered.

"What?  Don't like all the attention you're getting?  A pretty boy like you?"

Rolling his eyes, Ashur pushed his plate away and sat back.  "I'm sure your daughter is lovely," he replied.  "But I'm only here because of this dinner, and—"

Martin laughed outright.  "You sound like an old, married man, Ash."  His expression shifted to one of rather avid interest.  "Unless you've already found your woman . . .?"

"Nothing like that," he lied, unwilling to say anything else out loud, not until after he got to talk to Jessa.  It just didn't feel right to do otherwise . . . "I've just, uh, got a lot of things going on . . . You understand."

"And just what is wrong with my daughter?" Jan Sanstrom demanded, leaning forward to peer around her mate as she arched a delicate eyebrow at Ashur.

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with her," Ashur assured her, wishing that he could end this conversation instead of perpetuating it.

She laughed and winked at him.  "Relax, Mr. Philips.  I was just teasing."

Martin shrugged and shook his head.  "You really need to learn how to tell when someone's teasing you," he commented.  "Well, not about my daughter. She really did ask me to talk to you."

Ashur rubbed his forehead, trying his best, not to seem too displeased about the entire affair.  To be honest, he really didn't want to be there.  It was the last thing he'd wanted to do, and if there had been a way to gracefully bow out of it, he would have.  After all, Cain had called earlier to set up a time when they could meet on Monday.  He'd asked about tomorrow, but Ashur was already to the very end of his patience, as far as that went.  Tomorrow, come hell or high water, he was going over to Myrna's, and he was going to talk to Jessa about her crazy notions and her ridiculous assumptions . . .

' _About that, Kyouhei . . . Do you feel it?_ '

Frowning as he blinked at the rather vague question his youkai posed, he grunted.  ' _Feel what?  A couple hundred youkai, all crammed into this small space?  I feel lots of stuff, and none of it is what I want to . . ._ ' Drawing himself upright, he narrowed his gaze as he scanned the room, unaccountably irritated at the harsh light that he was under, the paltry glow that blanketed the rest of the hall kept everything else in the dusk . . . There, back there, in the far corner . . . The slightest brush of something familiar, of something warm and scared and . . . and lost . . . ' _Jessa . . .?_ '

"You okay?  You look a little . . . perplexed."

Ashur blinked and shot Cain Zelig a quick glance before unconsciously shifting his gaze out toward the back corner of the room again.  It was too dark to really ascertain a thing, and yet . . .

"I . . . I thought I sensed . . . someone . . ."

Cain chuckled.  "Well, there are a lot of 'someone's here tonight, so . . ."

Ashur gritted his teeth.  "I just thought . . . but . . . but she wouldn't be here . . ."

"Who?"

"Jessa . . ."

"Oh," Cain said, giving a little shrug.  "She might have come with Myrna.  I know _she's_ here . . ."  Turning in his chair, Cain waited for his mate to finish talking to Bas, who was seated to her other side.  "Baby girl, did Myrna mention who she was bringing?"

Gin grimaced.  "She brought Lady Jessa, of course . . . I meant to have her seated up here, but there was a mix-up, and Chelsea forgot to change the seating chart . . ." Leaning forward, she shot Ashur an apologetic sort of half smile.  "I'm so sorry, Ashur . . . When I realized the oversight, it was too late to change it . . ."

"She's . . . here . . ."

Gin nodded.  "Is it really all right?  The bachelor auction?  She's not going to mind, is she?"

Ashur was having trouble processing the fact that Jessa really was here—and was having distinct problems in trying to squelch the desire to march out there and find her.  "Yeah, everything's fine, Gin . . ." he muttered without actually paying attention to what she was saying.

Jessa . . . was here . . .?

Without a second thought, he stood up, headed around the table, only to be intercepted by a youkai he didn't know and, quite honestly, didn't feel like meeting now . . .

And he sighed inwardly.  ' _Jessa . . ._ '

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa stood in the enclosed bathroom stall, staring at the floor with a frown on her face, arms crossed over her chest as she contemplated the idea of staying right where she was for the rest of the gala that hadn't even started yet.

For one brilliant, dizzying second, she'd thought . . . Thought that maybe he'd sensed her, had seen her, and yet . . . As Cain spoke to him, as his gaze had swept over the room, only to stop as he stared where she sat . . . But he couldn't have known, and the disappointment when he'd stood up, only to be immediately set upon by a host of youkai who all wanted to meet him, to congratulate him . . .

And it was all that she could stand, wasn't it?  She'd stood, had lifted her skirts and had fled the dining hall as quickly as she could, only to realize just a moment too late that she really had nowhere to run to . . .

So, she'd slipped into the powder room, had hidden herself behind a stately marble door . . .

' _Stop it, Jessa!  You're better than this, ye ken?  Hiding yourself away—hiding from him . . . Just what do you think you're doing?  Your da raised you better than this!  Keep your head up, walk proud, Jessamyn O'Shea!  Remember what your da said!_ '

Biting her lip, she winced at the reprimand in her youkai's words. The surge of panic that shot through her at the very idea of coming face to face with him, however, was nearly enough to bring her to her knees, and it took another minute of deep breathing before she could get her hands to stop shaking, before she trusted them to reach for the handle on the door . . .

"His nanny?  How ridiculous!  Did you see her face?  I mean, sure, she's kind of all right looking—if you like Raggedy Ann, anyway . . ."

Shrill laughter that cut her deep as she let her forehead fall against the cool marble.

"And that dress?  Who on earth wears a color like that to something like this?  She stands out more than Gin Zelig does . . . Trying to outshine the hostess?  Truly bad taste . . ."

"In all the wrong ways, maybe.  I mean, wearing a red dress with her hair?  She looks like a damn glowstick!"

"If you're talking about my cousin, might I suggest that the two of you . . . Well, you should just stop because if you don't, I won't really care who your father is or that I actually like him.  We'll see how pretty you look when you're picking your fucking noses up off the floor."

The girls gasped and muttered half-assed apologies as they hurried out of the bathroom.  Only after the door closed did Jessa hear Myrna sigh softly just before she knocked on the stall door.  "Sweetie . . . Come out of there . . ."

When she didn't open the door right away, Myrna leaned against the door—Jessa could hear the rustle of fabric, the slight thump as she waited.  "It's not true, you know.  What those girls said . . . You're beautiful, like a . . . like a flower or something . . . like a rose, and I believe that you're just . . . biding your time, exactly like a rose.  You know, they don't open right away.  It takes awhile for them to blossom.  You're a rose, Jessa, and those girls?  They're the dandelions that we step on every, single day . . ."

Jessa turned the lock as Myrna stepped away from the door, and when she opened it, she blinked as Myrna drew her into a tight hug.  "Now, let me see your face," she commanded gently, grasping Jessa's chin, lifting her face as she dug a tissue out of the box on the counter, as she dabbed gently at Jessa's eyes.  "Never let girls like that make you cry, honey.  Pretty on the outside is nothing in comparison to what you have."  She smiled.  "And that dress?  That dress is fabulous, so don't let girls like that make you second guess yourself."

"Thank you," Jessa murmured, blinking quickly to stave back another wash of tears.

Myrna cupped her face in her hands and smiled again. "You don't need to, but if you want to retouch your makeup, I'll wait for you."

Staring at herself in the large, plate glass mirror hanging over the opulent sinks, Jessa carefully retouched her lip gloss—just a hint of deep crimson sheen—added just a touch more eyeliner where she'd cried it off of the corners of her eyes.  It was enough, she decided as she dropped the eyeliner back into her handbag.

Myrna nodded her approval as she led the way out of the bathroom and over to the security booth to check their purses for the evening.

Jessa stole a nervous look around, but the foyer area was rapidly emptying as the first tones of music from the string quartet drifted out of the open doorways that led to the ball room, and Ashur . . . He was nowhere to be seen . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader ——— xSerenityx020
> 
> ==========
> 
> **_AO3_ **
> 
> Amanda+Gauger ——— minthegreen ——— Savvyrae
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Crow ——— Nate Grey ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _But where is she_ …?


	58. Upper Fronts

"These people don't actually expect that I'm going to remember their names, do they?"

"I would certainly hope not.  Hell, I don't know most of these people, to be honest . . . " Bas chuckled and lifted a flute of champagne to his lips, watching as his diminutive wife took a turn on the dance floor with his younger brother, Evan.  The miscreant whispered something to Sydnie Zelig that made her laugh, and Bas slowly shook his head despite the smile still on his face. "Fifty bucks says he just said something entirely inappropriate to her," Bas muttered.

Ashur sighed, scanning the ball room from their vantage point on the upper level, gazing down at the assembly below.  He'd retreated up here when it had become apparent that he wasn't going to be able to locate Jessa from down there, anyway, and it also helped that this level was restricted access to those who were considered VIP guests—roughly a third of those in attendance—thus alleviating the ridiculous number of young ladies that were trying to get him to dance.

"Are you sure that one's your brother?"

Bas sighed.  "I wonder that myself sometimes, but you know, he looks a little too much like Mom not to be—unfortunately."

Ashur grunted, draining his glass of champagne and setting it on a mingling waiter's tray.  "I'm surprised you haven't killed him yet," he added, only half-joking.

Bas nodded.  "Not for lack of trying . . . Jumps around more than a damn jackrabbit, though, so what are you gonna do?"

"I'll hold him down, and you can run him through.  Simple," Gunnar Inutaisho remarked as he wandered over to join them.  "That old lady down there—the one in that gaudy orange dress?  She grabbed my ass as I passed her," he complained.

"Which part?  You're all ass," Bas remarked.

Gunnar snorted indelicately.  "Bas-tard . . ." Taking his time as he sipped from his glass of champagne, Gunnar shifted his gaze to Ashur.  "I can't believe they talked you into attending this monstrosity."

Ashur considered that, arching an eyebrow in question.  "Monstrosity?  Fair . . . So, why are you here?"

Gunnar rolled his eyes, pursed his lips in an entirely irritated kind of way.  "Because of you," he grumbled.  "Since my darling oba-chan decided that she needed to throw a damn dinner in your honor . . ."

"You can't say no to Gin?"

Gunnar narrowed his gaze.  "Have you tried that?"

Ashur nodded.  "Touché."

Gunnar waved off the formality with a flick of his fingers.  "Have you given any thought to Cain's offer to have you open another office for the special crimes department?"

Bas grunted.  "Leave it to him to talk shop here, of all places."

"I've made my obligatory appearance.  That's more than enough, as far as I'm concerned," Gunnar said.

"Oh?  So, you're not going to go down there and dance with Mom?" Bas goaded.

"Oba-chan?  Certainly.  Ass-grabber?  Not on your life.  She smelled like dusty old flowers.  They can't possibly sell that in stores . . ."

"Yeah, well, why didn't you go home to see Aunt Sierra?" Bas asked.

"Otou-san told me that he didn't want to overwhelm her right now, that it'd be best to visit in shifts, as it were.  Charity and Cass took the first shift.  I figure it'll be my turn around Christmas."

Bas sighed, slowly shaking his head.  "You're such an ass," he grumbled.

"I prefer honest," Gunnar retorted.  "Anyway, back to my question: have you considered the offer?"

Ashur stifled a sigh as he continued to scan the dance floor.  "A little bit," he allowed.  "I've had a number of things going on, so . . . I'll consider it more after I go back home."

"Well," Bas said, leaning on the rich, polished wood railing that ran around the perimeter of the upper level, "if you do decide to do it, give some thought to who you might work well with.  I know we said it before, but it's too big a job for just one person, and it's always helpful to have a fresh set of eyes to help you see things that one person could easily overlook."

"And that's why you work with him?" Ashur questioned, turning to face the two men more directly.

Gunnar chuckled.  "I'm the brains of our operation.  Bas is the one we send in to knock heads together."

"Speak for yourself, Gunsie."  Then he chuckled, too.  "Sydnie's actually our boss."

"Yours, maybe," Gunnar shot back.  "She's—Oh . . . Who's _that?_ "

Bas frowned as he followed the direction of Gunnar's gaze.  "Oh, her?  That's Myrna's cousin, Jessa.  Ash knows her pretty well.  She's Kells' nanny . . ."

"Kells' nanny, is she?"

Ashur turned and spotted her almost instantly.  Standing near the dance floor, surrounded by a gaggle of men, she drew his attention like a moth to a flame, and for a long moment, he could only stare.

The scarlet red dress hugged her body like a second skin to the waist where the A-line skirt flared around her in a gentle flow of layers of organza and tulle that shimmered with every breath of movement and seemed to brush the back of her ankles in the back while barely hitting her knees in the front, showing off the gentle curves of her long legs, the delicate turns of her ankles.  The wide V-neckline barely hugged her shoulders, the short sleeves molded to her arms with a shimmer of beads over the sheer fabric . . . From his vantage point, he could see the gentle slope of her neck, of her slightly protruding collar bones . . . and the memories of just what that flesh felt like under his fingertips, what it tasted like under his lips, very nearly brought him to his knees . . .

Hair drawn up and back in a gentle chignon as tendrils of it fell to frame her face, and those eyes so dark, so mysterious, and yet, there was something in her aura, something no one else seemed to notice—a certain sadness that he could feel, that dug at him, despite the polite little smile on her face—the one that didn't reach her eyes . . . And the memory of Devlin's words that haunted him . . .

" _She came to you, a child.  You turned her into a woman for yourself, but you never, ever taught her how to be one outside of the bedroom . . . Now, my question for you, Ashur, is, what the hell are you going to do about it?_ "

Without a second thought, he brushed past Bas and Gunnar, weaving around milling people as he made his way to the staircase.  Ignoring those who tried to intercept him, who called out to him as he descended the steps.

"Oh, Mr. Philips!  There you are!  Dance with me!"

Blinking away his own bemusement, Ashur frowned as he glanced down at the young woman holding onto his arm.  He'd met her earlier, but he didn't remember her name, and, at the moment, it was all he could do to keep from shaking her off and stalking away as a young man slipped an arm around Jessa, as he led her toward the dance floor with an idiotic smile on his face despite the way she stared at the floor, chin lowered, eyes downcast . . . Why the fool couldn't see that was entirely beyond Ashur, and he sighed as the woman dragged him off to dance . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

That flash of shining golden brown hair, caught back in a low hanging ponytail, secured by a bit of black ribbon that matched the tuxedo that fit him like a second skin, and she felt him before she saw him, her gaze lighting on him as he descended the stairs from the exclusive upper level of the ballroom . . .

For one dizzying, beautiful, shining moment, she'd thought that maybe he was trying to get to her.  He wasn't.  When Amy Baker stepped into his path, he'd stopped, her hand on his arm, a little too close to be just a casual acquaintance . . .

"Would you care to dance?"

Jessa blinked, glanced up into the smiling face of a young man she didn't really know, other than his first name was John.  He'd probably given his full name during the course of introductions, but she'd dismissed it just as quickly as she'd told herself she didn't need to look for _him_ , but she looked for him, just the same . . .

She didn't remember answering him.  She'd nearly jerked away on pure reflex when he slipped his arm around her to lead her off to the dance floor.  There were too many people, too many scents, too many auras, too many murmurs—murmurs that came to her ears despite her desire not to hear a blasted thing . . .

"Who is that man?  That tall one with the shining hair . . .?"

"I've never seen him before, but I'd give anything for a few minutes alone with him . . ."

"Dancing with Jerry and Karen's daughter?  Oh, don't they look perfect together . . .?"

Eyes downcast, staring at the floor in such a way that she could feel them burning in their sockets, she willed herself not to cry, not to cry, not to cry, as John No-Name pulled her into his arms, and they started to dance . . .

He was a good dancer.  He'd obviously been trained at some time in the finer points of the waltz.  Still, Jessa's feet felt as though they were cast of lead, and she stumbled, only for him to catch her with a breathy chuckle.  "You don't have to be nervous, Jessa.  I swear I don't bite," he murmured.

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, so she turned her face away, only to see Ashur, staring at her—directly at her—a strange sense of something dark, almost hostile, in his gaze—with Amy Baker in his arms . . .

" _His nanny?  How ridiculous!  Did you see her face?  I mean, sure, she's kind of all right looking—if you like Raggedy Ann, anyway_ . . ."

Her eyes skittered away, unable to withstand the ugly sense that she'd done something wrong, that she'd offended him somehow without even trying, like the entire universe had somehow tilted, spinning dizzily on its axis while it stood completely still . . .

She didn't dare look up again, didn't want to see him, holding that horrible girl so very close.  It _hurt_ , didn't it?  So much worse than she'd ever thought it could; ever thought it would . . . She could feel herself, shattering slowly, bit by agonizing bit, could feel every piece as it slowly, cracked and chipped and fell.

The song ended, and they stopped.  Maybe she clapped, she really didn't know.  What did any of it matter, anyway?  She started to turn, wanted to escape, but another hand stopped her, pulled her back.  "I'd like to cut in," another voice said.  She didn't know him, didn't recognize his face.  And yet, she couldn't quite find her voice, either, powerless to stop him as he pulled her close against him, as the string quartet launched into another waltz . . .

"You're . . . You're absolutely stunning," the man remarked.  "I mean, I don't usually say stuff like that—it sounds so trite, doesn't it?  But I've never seen anyone that looked quite like you before . . ."

For some reason, his statement made her wince.

"I guess I should have introduced myself first . . . I'm Rick Conway . . ." He chuckled.  "You're Jessa, right?  I heard you when you were talking to John over there . . ."

She shook her head, gaze slipping away once more.  "I'm Raggedy Ann," she mumbled.

"What was that?"

"N . . . Nothing . . ."

"I'd like to cut in, if that's all right."

He stopped, she could feel his irritation rising.  Even so, he stepped back, kissed the back of her hand before he finally let go.

She started to open her mouth, started to say that she just wanted to go get some air, something to put some distance between the angry glower that she could feel, even if she just couldn't bring herself to verify it.

The interloper, however, gently slipped an arm around her waist, led her away from the dance floor, out the doors at the back of the hall into the blessedly fresh and almost crisp evening air.  Closing the door behind them, he uttered a soft sigh as he stepped back, as he dug his hands into the pockets of his trousers, leaning against the railing of the stone fence that lined the terrace.  "I'm sorry if you were enjoying yourself," he said softly, quietly.  "But you looked a little . . . Are you all right, Jessa?"

Hearing the familiarity of her name, she finally looked up, met the undisguised concern in the face of the North American tai-youkai.  "I . . . I'm fine," she said, wondering vaguely if it was dark enough, if the lie would show on her face.   "Everything's so . . . so beautiful, and I . . ."

He sighed.  "You, uh . . . You kind of remind me of my daughter, Jillian.  I mean, you don't look like her or anything, but . . . but she always tried to put on a good face, too, even when she was hurting inside.  I always hated that.  I always wondered if she thought she couldn't tell me things, but then, I realized that it was her way of dealing, and I figured that it was all right, that she'd tell me anything that I needed to know."

"I . . ."

He smiled, but it was a tender smile, a gentle smile, almost a shy smile.  "You don't have to say anything to me, you know.  I'm not going to ask you any more questions.  That'd probably seem weird, anyway, right?  That means you don't have to tell me the truth.  It also means you don't have to lie, okay?"

Her gaze slipped to the railing before her as she crossed her arms over her chest.  Something about the kindness in his quiet voice was enough to bolster her just a little.  "Th-Thank you . . ."

He shrugged.  "You don't have to thank me, either.  In fact, if you'd rather, you can come meet my wife.  She's wanted to get to know you better, and if you're with us, you won't have to worry about being passed around the dance floor like the Flavor of the Month."

For the first time all evening, Jessa managed a smile.  Maybe it wasn't a big one, maybe not even a full one, but it was genuine, even as it quivered on her lips.  "I . . . I'd like that," she finally said.

Cain nodded.  "Let me know when you're ready to go back inside," he told her.

"Okay," she agreed, lifting her face, staring at the brightness of the moon . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ashur was ready to snap.  Literally ready to snap, and if someone so much as looked at him sideways, there was a good chance that he just might do it . . .

The entire universe was working against him, wasn't it? Bad enough when those idiot human boys started passing Jessa around, but then she was rescued by Cain, and then swept away with him, and if it wasn't bad enough that he really didn't feel that he could necessarily drag her away from the tai-youkai as well as the woman whose benefit they were there to raise money for, then damned if that little fucker Evan hadn't talked Jessa into dancing with him, and worse, Ashur had been near enough to hear her laugh— _laugh_ —at something that the rotten little bastard had said, too . . .

Just now?  Ashur snorted.  Just now, she was dancing with Bas, damn it—also probably not a good idea to cut in, and an even worse idea, given that all he really wanted to do was to toss his jacket over her shoulders and to rip the heads off of the number of men who kept giving her the eye, stripping her naked in the confines of their own twisted thoughts . . .

"Tell me something, Ash . . . Why do you look like you're ready to light into someone?"

Ashur grunted as he slowly shifted his gaze to the side to meet Myrna's rather frank expression.  "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied.

She shrugged, reaching over to snag two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, and she promptly slipped one into his hand.  "Drink, you'll feel better—or I will.  Either one works for me."

"Jessa seems to be having a great time," he remarked, careful to keep his tone even—at least, he thought he did.  The look Myrna shot him might have said differently, he didn't know, and he wasn't about to ask, either.

"I figure that the two of you are friendly, right?" she said instead.  "I mean, she lived in your house for months, so you got to know her fairly well—better than I know her, I'm sure . . ."

"Your point, Myrna?"

She shrugged, smoothing the front of the glittering black evening gown she wore.  "You wouldn't know this because we weren't seated anywhere near you, but . . . That girl you danced with?  Amy Baker?  She said some pretty rude things in the bathroom about Jessa—her and her nasty sister, Michelle.  Thing was, Jessa was in the stall, and either they didn't know it or they wanted her to hear it . . ." She shook her head.  "Anyway, I just thought I should tell you that in case they try to drag you out onto the dance floor again."

"What did they say?" he demanded.

Myrna's eyebrows shot up at the unmasked anger in his tone.  "Catty girl shit," she replied.  "Does it matter?  I just . . . I get the feeling that it wasn't the first time Jessa's heard that kind of crap, so when she saw you dancing with Amy?"  Myrna laughed, but the sound was hollow, empty.  "You didn't see her face, Ash . . . but I did."

He watched in silence as Myrna sauntered away, clenching his jaw so tightly that it ached.

"Well, hello, gorgeous."

Ashur shifted his gaze to the side, only to nod as Steve Vasquez, the Mexican general, sidled up next to him with a glass of champagne and a rather sardonic little grin on his face.  "You're still not my type, you realize."

Steve chuckled.  "You haven't been a general long enough to have that expression on your face during one of these," he commented.  "Give it another . . . ten?  Fifteen years?"

"In the future, I'll be avoiding as many of these as I can, thanks," Ashur muttered.

"Yes, well, you look like you're ready to light into someone . . . Who is it and do they deserve it?"

Ashur snorted.  "Yes, but there's not a lot I can do without causing a scene, and I'm fairly sure that our darling hostess would frown upon it."

"Ah, but would Zelig?"

". . . Probably not."

"Well, as I see it, you have two choices.  You can stand here, looking like you're about to eat someone's spleen, or  . . ."

"Or?" he prompted when Vasquez trailed off.

"Ah, _güero_ . . . Your impatience is absolutely adorable.  Or you could do what I do to amuse myself at times like this."

Ashur grunted, his gaze shifting to find Jessa once more.  This time, she was standing near Gin and Cain, talking with the woman, and she did seem a little more relaxed overall.  Even as he watched, however, another couple of men closed in on her, causing Cain to step up just a little—just enough to add the unvoiced warning that the two had come close enough.  Despite the tai-youkai's proximity, however, one of those men had the audacity to reach out, to touch Jessa's forearm, and Ashur narrowed his eyes as his back stiffened and he drew himself up just a little taller . . .

' _You'd better think of something quick, Kyouhei, because you're right.  If  you start a fight just because some jackass put a hand on Jessa's arm, then Gin really is going to be upset with you . . . This isn't some random dance club, you know.  This is a gathering of some of the richest and most influential people in North America—maybe the whole world . . ._ '

Sometimes, he really hated it when his youkai felt the need to point out what should have been obvious . . . "Okay, I'll bite," he said, more as a means of distracting himself than because he was actually interested to hear what Vasquez had to say.  "What kind of distraction do you suggest?"

Steve chuckled, raising his glass, using it to sweep a gesture over the crowded ballroom.  "Look around you, Ash.  All those women, many of whom have very relaxed morals—a sign of the times, I guess . . . and if they're willing, and you're willing, why not allow for a little distraction?  Here," he said, stuffing a condom in Ashur's hand.  "There's nothing wrong with a little recreation, especially during these kinds of things . . . Thank me later," he said as he strode away before Ashur could stop him.

Uttering a terse snort, he stuffed the damned thing into his pocket, making a mental note to maim Sanchez the next time he caught up with him.

The music ended abruptly as Cain escorted his diminutive wife onto the small stage, allowing the string quartet to take a break.  Cain stepped back after handing Gin the microphone that one of the quartet members hand given to him as the lights dimmed just a little and a spotlight flickered to life, trained on the tiny woman.

"I'd like to take this opportunity to formally welcome you all to the Zelig Foundation Summer Gala.  We truly appreciate your continued patronage.  As an update, I am proud to announce that, to date, we have disbursed more than twenty-seven million dollars just this year to various organizations around the world for everything from childhood cancer research to the newly opened Dieter Reichardt Center for the Arts, right here in New York City!  The center is designed to offer all kinds of art and media classes and support for the city's underprivileged youth, providing a safe and nurturing environment that is entirely free for these children, no matter where they're from, but we can't do it alone, and that's why . . ." She smiled sweetly.  "That's why you've all generously been offering silent bids on the vast array of items that have been so generously donated for tonight's event.  I also want to remind you that your monetary donations are also welcome, and please don't forget that if you have a cause that you feel strongly about, I welcome your suggestions throughout the year, not just tonight!"

Glancing over at the side of the stage, he was somewhat mollified to see Jessa, standing with Myrna, so he was reasonably okay with that.  Too bad that the little maggot who had put his hand on her was milling around nearby, like a common mongrel, sniffing around for leftovers . . .

' _We_ _could bury him easily, and no one would be the wiser_ . . .'

Ashur considered that for just a moment too long.

' _If he touches her again, I just might . . ._ '

' _Okay . . . I think we should probably step outside for a moment before we end up doing something we're going to regret . . ._ '

Letting out a deep breath, Ashur turned on his heel, skirted the crowds to let himself out onto the balcony.  He'd already donated a good amount, so the silent auction wasn't really of interest to him, anyway.  As for the idea of making that little bastard disappear?  His youkai might well regret it, but he wasn't entirely convinced he would . . .

Welcoming the brisk night air, he sighed.  All in all, he really just wanted to get the hell out of there, and yet, he couldn't, could he?  Leaving Jessa here alone was simply not an option.  Too bad it seemed like it was damn near impossible to get anywhere near her when all he wanted to do was to talk to her, to make sure she was all right—and to tell her in no uncertain terms that she absolutely was coming back home with him—back where she belonged . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_A/N_** :
> 
>  ** _Güero:_** _Mexican slang for_ _a light-skinned man with blonde or light hair_.
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader ——— Quinn ( _Actually, I didn't realize that there was another Myrna Loy LOL_ )
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Savvyrae ——— Okmeamithinknow ——— patalaxe
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— GoodyKags
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from Ashur**_ :  
>  _Damn it_ …


	59. Tidal Wave

"You're making quite an impression on everyone, you know?  And I've had a lot of women, asking me all sorts of questions about you, too—but you're not interested in that, are you?"

Ashur forced a tight smile, solely for Gin Zelig's benefit as he danced her around the floor, as he tried his level best to keep his gaze off of Jessa—as he tried to ignore the fact that she was dancing with a rather stoic looking human that he vaguely remembered from having attended Ben and Charity's wedding.  Then again, there were so many people at Ben and Charity's wedding, it was hard to remember all of them . . .

Gin smiled brightly, golden eyes shining in the glow of the hulking crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling over the second level of the ballroom.  A soft flicker of light, reflected off the black beaded fringe of her short-skirted, black-lace-over-ivory-silk dress, and added a very flattering glow to the woman who could have easily been the same age as Jessa and not nearly old enough to be the flame-youkai's mother instead.  "I also wanted to personally thank you for agreeing to step in for Mr. Weller . . . It's a shame that he couldn't make it, but it really couldn't be helped . . ."  She sighed softly.  "I mean, we could have just made do with the nine other bachelors, but the auction is always one of the bigger money makers of the night . . . and you're sure it's okay that you're participating?"

He shrugged, only really listening to half of what Gin was saying.  The man dancing with Jessa seemed a little stilted, very obviously out of his comfort zone.  Even so, Ashur would be lying if he tried to say that he was all right with the idea of her dancing with anyone that wasn't him, damn it . . .

Gin followed the direction of Ashur's repeated glances, and she laughed softly.  "I think it's utterly adorable that Kurt's dancing with Jessa . . . I don't doubt that Samantha had something to do with it, though, since he's not really known to dance too often, even with her . . ."

Ashur nodded.  Kurt and Samantha?  Now he remembered . . . Kichiro Izayoi's youngest daughter and her mate: the human with innate spiritual powers . . . He'd heard a bit of the man's story, and it was terrible.  To be frank, it was kind of a miracle that the man seemed happy enough now, given his rocky start in life . . . Even so . . . "He's a little close, don't you think?"

Gin blinked and frowned as she watched the couple in question with a critical eye. "It seems . . . respectful to me . . ." she finally said.

Biting his tongue since he was about ready to argue that point with her, he drew a deep breath and forced his gaze away from Jessa.

Gin sighed, but it was a rather happy sound, almost a dreamy sort of sound . . . "She's just gorgeous.  Maybe it's that hair of hers," she said quietly.  "I mean, she was pretty in those pictures that Charity sent, but in person?"  Laughing softly, Gin gave a little shrug as a hint of a blush washed over her already rosy cheeks.  "I'd give anything to look like her," she admitted.  "Tall and beautiful and so graceful . . . As hard as we try, we short girls are just  . . . not . . ."

Ashur smiled despite the turmoil of his thoughts.  "I daresay your mate would be pretty unhappy if you suddenly didn't look like . . . you . . ."

She laughed, the sound of it, so light, so sweet.  "Zelig-sensei?"  Shaking her head, she giggled again, and then, she tilted her head to the side and peered up at Ashur, her expression an interesting mix of amusement and almost a touch of embarrassment.  "Can I tell you something?  Something I've never told . . . anyone before?"

"Okay . . ."

She grimaced slightly, but then, the smile returned as she leaned in, her voice dropping to just a touch above a whisper.  "I . . . I don't know why Cain wanted to be my mate.  I mean, I _know_ why, but . . . I've . . . I've never really known _why_ . . . Does that make sense?"

He chuckled.  There was something entirely endearing about Gin Zelig, and, objectively speaking, it wasn't really that difficult for him to see exactly what Cain might well have seen in the woman from the start.  "I'd say it was because he loves you," he replied, unable to help the small smile that quirked his lips as he gazed at the tai-youkai's mate.

She shook her head, bit her lip, as though she were pondering exactly what it was that she wanted to say.  "I don't . . . I don't really know how or why.  We didn't actually date, you know?  There were a couple . . ." Wrinkling her nose, she laughed, almost like she was laughing at her own thoughts.  Maybe she was.  "He took me to this art exhibit, and it was . . ." Trailing off, she made a face, wrinkling her nose as she slowly shook her head.  "Oh, it was a _disaster_ . . . It was . . . _really_ bad.  I thought . . . I thought that if that's what dating was all about, then I didn't want to date anymore.  Then he tricked me into going on another one later, and it was all right, but . . . But that was after . . ."

"After?" he prompted when she trailed off.

She sighed and quickly shot him an almost nervous kind of glance.  "A lot of things happened, and I found out some of the things that he didn't want to tell me—things that he thought I couldn't understand, or maybe he just thought I wouldn't be able to deal with . . . I . . . I don't really know . . . Back then, there was so much that I didn't know—things . . . sad things . . . awful things . . . By the time I found out everything, I remember . . . I was . . . I was so scared of telling him how I felt . . . I think it's because I was scared that he'd made a promise to his first mate, that he'd die for her after he'd raised their daughter . . ."

Shifting a little uncomfortably, Ashur frowned.  She had a point that she was slowly getting around to; he could feel it.  The thing was, he wasn't entirely sure what it was.  "Why . . . are you telling me this?"

She sighed.  "I swear, I'm not trying to be nosy.  I just . . ." She grimaced, gnawing on her lip as she offered him a curt little shrug, no more than a slight lifting of her shoulders, and a soft sigh as they fell back again . . . "I know it's not my business, and I'm sorry if you . . . I-I-I'm not trying to be offensive.  It's just . . . I've caught her looking at you a few times tonight, and . . . and she seems so sad . . . and the look in her eyes . . . I _know_ that look.  I've seen it, only . . . only I saw it in the mirror . . . when I looked at myself . . ."

"Gin—"

Shaking her head suddenly, she drew a deep breath, like she were trying to bolster her faltering resolve, and she smiled at him, but the smile was thin, a little unsteady, and he winced inwardly.  "The thing is?  I know where my story ended up, but before we got there . . . I . . . I gave up for awhile, Ashur.  At the time, I thought . . . I thought that it was the only thing I _could_ do.  I mean, I . . . I couldn't ask Cain to ignore his promise, and . . . and I thought that it'd be better, you know?  If I let him go, if he didn't know . . . So, I . . ." She flinched, her gaze skittering off, as though she were too ashamed to even meet his eyes any longer.  "I watched him walk away, and it . . . it killed me inside.  I gave up because I . . ."

Her sigh was a painful thing, those emotions that she'd tried to bury so long ago seemed to take on a life, all their own, wrapping around Ashur with a harsh kind of abrasion, and for a moment—just for a moment—he could feel that swell of the darkest despair—a pain that Gin managed to banish in much the same way that Ashur had closed off the memories that hurt him, too . . . "I don't . . . I don't want to drag all this up for you," he told her.  "I'm sorry . . ."

She managed a very wan smile, shook her head as though to reassure him that she really was fine despite the harshness in her youki.  "I just don't want to see her to give up, too . . . It's ugly, and it hurts, and there's no pain like it in the world . . ."

He stopped, slowly shook his head as he let out a deep sigh, as he pulled Gin into a hug before she broke down in tears completely, as he grimaced at the unnatural brightness that glazed over her amber eyes, made them sparkle like jewels—like tragic jewels . . . "I . . . I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong . . ." he admitted, unsure why he was saying as much, unsure what it was about her that reached through his façade, that touched him so far down deep.  "I thought . . . but she . . . I don't know what to say to her, to make her want to . . . to stay . . ." he admitted, wishing that this night would end, wishing that he could just get out of here, that he could somehow grab even a moment alone with Jessa—long enough for him to let her know that she . . . That she belonged with him, and that he would do everything within his power to make sure that she knew it, too . . .

Gin sighed and stepped back, forcing a trembling smile that was all the more appalling because of the unshed tears that still stood in her eyes.  "I don't know, either, but I can tell you this: the only thing in the world that is worse than closing your eyes when you know in your heart that you won't open them again _is_ opening your eyes again . . . because that pain is something you never forget.  It's like . . . you can feel yourself, crumbling away—like the earth below your feet is just . . . just dissolving . . . and at that time, I . . . I didn't _want_ to wake up again—not if I had to wake up in a world without Cain in it."  She closed her eyes for a long moment, as though she had to put herself back together again, and maybe she did.  Then she cleared her throat, opening her eyes, slowly reaching up, her hand coming to rest against his cheek as she stared so solemnly into his eyes.  "So . . . So, don't do that to her, Ashur . . . I don't know what's going on between you, and . . . and I'm not asking.  It's not my place.  It's just . . . I know where she's going, and it's not pretty, and it's not kind.  It's terrifying and frightening and so, so empty.  There's nothing: no hope, no dreams . . . just void and darkness and cold . . . and . . . and a loneliness that you can't imagine . . ." She let her gaze fall for a moment before reaching for Ashur's hands again.  "Please don't tell Cain.  I think he believes that I don't remember it, and I never told him because I know that it would hurt him.  I just . . ."

He resumed the dance because it was what Gin seemed to want.  "Your secret's safe with me, Gin," he whispered to her.

She sniffled, but she smiled: a tragic angel with invisible wings . . . "Write your story differently, Ashur—for her sake?"

Ashur nodded, swallowing hard.  "I . . . I will . . ."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Here."

Ashur glanced at Bas as the latter stepped up beside him and slipped a glass of champagne into his hand.  "Thanks . . . Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm really starting to despise your morbidly large family," he growled, tipping the flute to his lips.

Bas chuckled.  "Morbidly large?  Okay . . . Why's that?"

Ashur snorted and shook his head.  "Never mind."

"What?  You're not enjoying yourself?"

"In a word?  No. To be honest, I didn't actually want to come, at all, but then your mother did me dirty, planning that dinner and everything—flattening those ears of hers . . ."

Bas grinned.  "It means she likes you."

Ashur grunted.  "Right . . ."

Bas' grin didn't wane.  If anything, it grew, and didn't that just figure?  "Well, you know, I'm just trying to figure out who's more pathetic: Bitty, over there, trying to talk Griffin into dancing with her . . . or Gunnar, over there, trying to put the moves on your nanny."

"What?"

Bas nodded and lifted his drink to point at Gunnar, who was currently dancing with Jessa, and Ashur's gaze narrowed.  Bas didn't see it.  "I think he likes her accent," Bas went on.  "Must be a record.  Dancing with the same woman three times in one night?"  Bas sighed.  "At least she's making him put in a little effort . . ."

"Meaning, what?" Ashur demanded, unable to keep the darkening scowl off his face as he watched the future Japanese tai-youkai lean down, whisper something to her that made Jessa smile just a little.

Giving a little shrug, Bas set his empty glass aside on a nearby table before stuffing his hands into his pockets and leaning back.  "Well, he does have a fairly disgusting way of getting what he wants out of women.  Kind of sick, really . . . Sydnie, notwithstanding, of course . . . Come to think of it, I think she's about the only woman that I know of who has actually turned Gunnar down.  Go figure . . ."

"Is that right . . .?"

"Hmm . . ."  Then he sighed.  "She's too good for the likes of him.  I mean, it's not like he's actually looking for a mate, anyway—doesn't want one, either—at least, not a real one . . ."

Grinding his teeth together, Ashur very nearly snapped the stem of the champagne flute, but he managed to set it aside before he squeezed harder than he meant to . . .

Bas started forward.  "Oh, well, I guess I'd better go save her from him . . ."

Striding past Bas, Ashur didn't answer when the future North American tai-youkai called after him.  Weaving his way across the floor, he didn't stop to think or to try to talk himself out of it, either—didn't really even know exactly what he was going to do; not really.  Ignoring the questioning glances, the curious gazes of the dancing people, he kept his eyes trained on her, on the young woman he was intent on intercepting.  "Step aside, Inutaisho," Ashur growled, unable to keep the hint of menace out of his tone, ignoring the sharply indrawn breath from Jessa as he reached over and grasped her hand to tug her behind his back.

Gunnar stopped and stepped back, his amber gaze awash with an almost amused sort of glint.  "Where are your manners, Ash?  Shouldn't you wait until this dance is over?" he drawled.

"It's over," Ashur allowed, feeling only a little less irritated since he was able to effectively separate the two.  "You've already danced with her enough for one . . . lifetime."

Gunnar chuckled and inclined his head before finally turning and walking away.  Ashur didn't move, didn't take his eyes off of the hanyou until he stepped off the dance floor and headed toward Bas.

"E-Everybody's  . . . staring," Jessa whispered behind him.

He turned to face her, though his anger had yet to subside—irritation directed at Gunnar Inutaisho and whatever sordid thoughts he had, rolling around in his brain.  Without a word, he gave a terse nod and slipped his arm around her, resting on the small of his back as he took her other hand—her slender and graceful and perfectly fitted hand—in his and started to dance.

Other people were, in fact, staring, though most of them had turned away by the time Ashur started dancing with Jessa.  Fighting desperately to tamp down the rioting anger that had yet to abate, he gritted his teeth and kept moving.

He could feel the stiffness in her body, in her stance, the trepidation rolling off of her in wave after painful wave.  For some reason, her acute discomfort only served to send his frustration soaring higher and higher with every second that passed, and that, in turn, caused her to withdraw even further, and as warm as the ballroom was, her hand in his felt like blocks of ice.

He felt her sigh more than heard it—the softest rise and fall, the vaguest lifting of her shoulders—a gentle exhalation that somehow hurt him.  "You . . . You don't have to dance with . . . with me . . ." she murmured.

He glanced down at her, just in time to see her eyes skitter down and away, the blush in her cheeks riding high, almost painfully so, and just as abruptly, his anger redirected itself—at her.  "You really like trying to put words into my mouth—into my thoughts and actions—don't you?  And I find it _fascinating_ that I'm the last one— _the last one_ —to hear about any of it."

"I don't—"

His snort cut her off.  "Close that pretty mouth of yours, _Amaterasu_ , or I swear to God, I may just turn you over my knee right now, in front of every damn person here and beat some sense into you."

She gasped softly, her gaze flying up to meet his: liquid pools of molten lava, churning with an inner turmoil that shot right through him.  She wasn't challenging him, no, but there was something else there, something deep and dark and unreachable, writ in the depths of her sparkling eyes, and for some reason, that . . . that just added to his overall exasperation, too . . .

It was a mistake to dance with her.  It was a mistake to even look at her.  How the hell was it that a simple look from her could twist him completely inside out?  And the underlying knowledge that trickled over him, like the melting of the ice in the spring wind . . . ' _I . . . I can't reach her . . . because she. . . she doesn't want me to . . ._ '

Wincing inwardly at that insular thought, Ashur shifted his gaze away, painfully aware of just how many people were there, just how many of them were watching the two of them like they were some sort of new and exciting display at the local zoo.

' _You really need to talk to her, Kyouhei . . . You need to make her listen before it's too late—make her understand that she's wrong—dead wrong.  We can't go back to Canada without her.  You know we can't.  She's as necessary to us—to Kells—as the air we breathe . . ._ '

He could feel her eyes on him, burning into his head, but he couldn't meet her gaze.  Teetering on the very edge of his control, of his reason, if he looked at her now . . .

She stopped moving, simply standing still as the couples swirled around them, past them, and she pulled her hands away.  "I . . . I think I'd like a drink of water," she finally murmured, gaze drifting down to the floor as she ducked her head, refusing to look at him.  She started to slip past him, but he caught her arm and pulled her back, grimacing as the pain in her aura pushed against him.  He held onto her, tugged her back into his arms as the song ended, and another began, this one softer, slower, and he sighed, letting his eyes close, just for a moment, as he breathed in the scent of her.

Funny, how he hadn't realized just how delicate she was, how perfect she felt, wrapped in his arms.  It felt like it'd been far longer than just a week since he'd held her, since he'd touched her.  He knew her scent, knew her aura, and yet, in his mind, those things seemed dulled in comparison to what he felt now.  The distance between them opened up a painful swell, an ache so deep that it left him reeling.  Unsure just how it was that everything had spun so far out of his control, he felt like a leaf on the water, carried along, unable to fight against the current that was tearing Jessa away from him.

"Let . . . Let me go, Ashur . . . Please . . ." she murmured, and he wasn't entirely sure if she meant for him to hear her at all.

He ground his teeth together as he counted to twenty before replying.  "So . . . Were you going to tell me anything at all?  Or were you going to walk away, just like that?" he gritted out, unable to staunch the emotions that warred within him.  Everything—all of it—every last thing that he'd felt since the day she'd walked away from him . . . "And Kells?  Do you know what you did to him?  Do you even _care?_ "

She winced.  He could feel the slight jerk in her body.  "I . . . I thought it was better this way . . ." she murmured.

He snapped his mouth closed on whatever it was that he was about to say.  The absolute irritation that shot through him warred with the sense of devastation, of loss, that was hard to reconcile.  In the end, the irritation won out.  Maybe it was just easier to deal with than the other . . .

' _Calm down for a minute, can't you?  You know why she left.  You know what she thinks.  Can't you put your own feelings aside for just a moment and at least try to talk to her?  At the rate you're going, you're just going to push her farther away, and that's the last thing that we want, damn it!_ '

He hated to acknowledge the truth in his youkai's words, but he also realized quickly enough that he was standing on very thin ice, as it were.  The real problem was, he honestly didn't know how to reach her, didn't know how to breach the chasm that had opened up between them, had no real idea, just how everything had spiraled so out of control . . . Holding her in his arms, unmindful that the music had stopped, that the lights had dimmed just a little as Gin took the stage to start the bachelor auction, he struggled to control his emotions, even as he felt them all, spilling out around him, like blood on a marble floor.  Still, he held onto Jessa, and if she noticed it or not, he didn't know.  Loathe to let go of her, knowing that if he did, he'd somehow lose her, he struggled to find a word—any word—that could reach through the careful façade she'd constructed against him—or maybe _because_ of him . . .

The tinge of salt, of muted dirge, cut through his thoughts, he blinked, frowned, looked down at her, only to find her, staring up at him, a wash of unshed tears standing in her eyes.  Such a forlorn expression, but she didn't look away, staring back at him despite the quivering of her lips, the trembling of nostrils, and he realized in that instant, just what she was doing: committing this moment to memory, wasn't she?  Drinking in every last detail that she could because . . .

Deliberately slamming the door on that train of thought, he stared back at her, gaze narrowing, daring her to deny what he knew to be true: that the two of them really _did_ belong together, that there was no, 'him' without her, and there would never be a, 'her' without him, either . . .

But the flutter of her lips drew his gaze as her mouth slackened.  Lips as scarlet as her dress, and the memories of kissing those lips shot through him with a vengeance.  He stopped, started to lean down, eyes slowly slipping closed as his lips drew near to hers, closer, closer, feeling the warmth of her unsteady breaths brushing over him like a caress . . .

"Ashur, I . . . I can't . . ." she whispered, turning her face away in a last-ditch effort to save herself, her words nearly lost in the ambient noise that was suddenly far, far too loud.

Her quiet words were enough to stop him, and he clenched his jaw tight, trying to unwind the mad tangle of bitter disappointment before he snapped entirely.  "Jessa, we need to talk.  I—"

Suddenly, she shook her head, tried to step away from him again, trying to run as panic surged in her youki.  When she tried to pull her hand away from his, though, Ashur growled and turned abruptly, dragging her behind him, through the crowd, ignoring the odd looks he was garnering, ignoring the sight of Myrna, who was trying to slip around people to intercept him.

He moved a little faster, unwilling to give her a chance to draw Jessa away.  He heard Jessa's protests as she tried to pull away from him, but he ignored her, dragging her along behind him, up the great staircase that led to the second story, through the milling guests, refusing to stop or to slow down until he'd dragged her into one of the small waiting rooms that were designed to allow guests to have a brief reprieve from the noise of the party.  Letting go of her hand, he turned the lock before finally whipping around to face her.

She gasped and tried to push him out of the way, tried to unlock the door.  "Have ye gone mad?" she demanded, trying to turn the lock and jerk the handle at the same time.

He slammed a hand against it, just in case she managed to unlock it.  "Damn it, Jessa, you're going to listen to me!" he growled.

She glared at him, her temper sparking, igniting, along with the dangerous glint that lit her eyes ablaze.  "Get oot of my way, Ashur Philips!  Ye cannae hald me in here against my will!"

"Yeah, I think I can," he shot back.

With a growl, she whirled around, tried to shove him out of the way.  It didn't work.  "Ach, mon!  Move!"

"Not until you listen!  Not until you hear what I have to say!"

"I've heard what ye've had t' say, damn ye!" she blasted.  "I've heard it _all!_   Nae _move!_ "

"Damn it, Jessa, will you _stop?_ "

"Move, ye hairy knuckled cretin!"

Grasping her shoulders, he stubbornly shook his head.  "I said _no!_ "

Knocking his hands aside, she glowered up at him, fire crackling in the depths of her eyes.  "What do ye care?  Ye don' wan' me!  I'm just _convenient_ , aren't I?"

"Where the fuck did you come up with that?" he demanded, leaning back when she pushed at him again.  "Knock that off!"

"Oh, I'll knock somethin' oof, damn ye!" she spat.

"Jessa—"

"Nay!" she shrieked, giving up her efforts to push him out of the way as she flailed against him, her fists doing nothing in the way of actual damage.  "Ye don' wan' me!  Ye've made that abundantly clear, ye ken?  Just—Just let me go!"

"I don't _what?_ " he growled, catching her wrists easily enough, pushing her back against the door.  "Tell me again, woman, just what don't I want?"

" _Me!_ " she yelled.

His temper snapped, his anger spiraling out of his control as he grasped her wrists in one hand, slamming them over her head as he dropped his mouth to hers.  No finesse, no gentleness, just the full force of his exploding passion as his rage instantly redirected itself.  She gasped against his lips, her body stilling almost instantly.  Crushing her mouth with his, he growled almost viciously as a wave of absolute need crashed down on him with a ferocity, with a brutality, that very nearly brought him to his knees.

Just as fast, the scent of her shifted and grew, her kiss goading him without words, her body arching toward his, willing him to understand, begging silently for the fulfillment that she knew he could give her.  Wrapping one leg around him, she pulled him closer as she tugged against his hold on her, as he rocked against her, as he dragged moans and whimpers from her.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered that she hadn't put up even a token resistance, and for some reason, that just goaded him on a little more . . .

"Ashur . . ." she half-moaned, half-gasped when his lips dropped to her exposed collarbone, his fangs dragging over her flesh as a riot of goosebumps broke out under his brutal ministrations.  Her body bucked against him, but she wasn't trying to push him back.  God, no, she was trying to move in closer—as close as she could without the use of her hands.  "Ashur, _please_ . . ."

That was all he needed to hear.  Letting go of her wrists, he dug the condom out of his pocket as her hands reached down, unzipped his slacks, nipping at his lips as she carefully tugged him free.  She started to squeeze him.  He shivered and growled, pushing her hands out of the way before tearing open the condom and rolling it into place.

Lifting her up, her skirt falling to the side, as though it was made for just this moment, he positioned her, one hand under her ass, the other hooking the crotch of her panties, pulling them aside, fingertips brushing against her burning flesh, already wet with her own moisture as he uttered a terse little growl when she ground against his hand.

She cried out when he slammed into her, her body welcoming him, her legs locking around his hips as he braced his hands under her arms, against the door.  She pistoned up and down on him, grasping the door frame on both sides, bearing down on him as he thrust back, as he kissed her hard, kissed her deep, the stroke of his tongue against hers, matching the movement of their bodies, his mouth catching her gasps, her almost guttural moans.   Her body quivered around his, swirled and ebbed and held him tight, burning him, scorching him, such incredible precision as she took and gave, perfect symmetry, perfect balance . . . It had been far too long since he'd held her, since he'd loved her, but he couldn't help himself, couldn't control the fierce desire that drove him.  Slipping his arms around her tiny waist, he fucked her fast, hard, pouring every last bit of emotion into every single pulse beat, every single time he drove into her.

She panted, keened, her body constricting around him as the first spasms of pleasure took her.  Tearing her mouth away, only to cry out his name, she bore down on him, the muscles in her body all constricting, tightening around him, holding him in a brilliant wash of unrelenting heat, legs locked around him, quivering as she thrashed against him, panting mixed with the bittersweet sound of her half-sobs . . .

He grunted, groaned, feeling himself thickening, tightening.  He fought against the overwhelming orgasm that was building for a few seconds.  It was too late, and he knew it.  The rise of heat deep inside him was too hard to ignore, the sounds of her body, every time he started to pull out, every time he slammed into her again too stark in his head, obliterating common sense, maybe even his sense of propriety, as it all spun away from him faster than he could reel it all back in . . . With another thrust, he felt the tide break wide, the waves of pleasure so intense they was almost painful, the spasm of release that covered him in his own burning rush . . .

Leaning against her, supporting her weight against the door, he struggled to breathe, struggled to form coherent thought, and for the moment, he held her, kissed her . . .

Loved  her . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** xSerenityx020
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Okmeamithinknow ——— patalaxe ——— minithegreen ——— Savvyrae ——— monsterkittie
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— lianned88 ——— lovesthedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _He might want me, but_ …


	60. Change of Plans

Leaning against the door since she didn't really trust her legs to hold her, Jessa struggled to breathe, eyes closed, willing herself not to try to think too hard, not to let her question herself as the sound of running water registered vaguely in her mind.

On the one hand, maybe she should have fought him, maybe she ought to have tried to stop him, and yet, she couldn't, could she?  She never had been able to resist him because she didn't really want to, and she knew it.  He was her weakness, maybe her addiction . . . and now . . .

Eyes flying open when the warmth of the dampened paper towels touched her between her still spread legs, Jessa glanced down, only to find Ashur there, kneeling before her, gently washing her, and the tenderness in his touch brought a fine sheen of tears to her eyes.  What was it about the infinite gentleness that he was showing her that all but stripped away her strongest resolve?

He didn't speak as he cleaned her up, as he carefully fixed her panties, as he straightened her skirt.  Finally, though, he sighed, leaning back, resting his forearm on his raised knee, the paper towels dangling from his limp hand.  "You can't leave me, Jessa," he said, his words barely more than a whisper.  "If you do . . ."

She winced, sank to the floor as she slowly shook her head.  "I . . . I don't want to," she admitted just as quietly.  "I . . . I never wanted to . . ."

Slowly—painfully slowly—he lifted his gaze to meet hers without lifting his head, and the emotion she saw in his eyes made her blink, made her heart skip an unsteady beat.  For a moment—just for a moment—she almost thought . . . "Then you'll come home with me?"

She swallowed hard, opening her mouth for words that were stuck somewhere between her lips and her lungs.  "I . . ."

The curt knock on the door made her jump, almost made her shriek.  Instead, she scooted to the side, huddling against the wall as Ashur heaved a sigh and pushed himself to his feet, tossing the towels into the trashcan over by the tiny sink before casting her an inscrutable glance and yanking the door open just a crack.  "I'm a little—"

Very blatant throat-clearing made Jessa wince.  "Uh, Chelsea's . . . stalling, but it's time for you."

She recognized that voice.  It was Evan, wasn't it?

Ashur heaved a sigh.  "I can't—damn it . . . I'll be right there."

Evan chuckled.  "Okay, I'll let her know, but for the record?  You really have shitty timing, Ash."

Ashur sighed again, his agitation a palpable thing.  Standing there with his hand on the door handle, he glanced at her and shook his head.  "I promised Gin . . . I'll be right back.  Stay here."

She blinked as the door closed behind him, frowning at the hasty departure.  Promised Gin?  What had he promised her?

Pushing herself to her feet, she started to follow him, but for some reason, a sudden rush of trepidation surged through her, and she jerked her hand back before she could open the door.

' _I don't know, Jessa.  He asked you to stay here._ '

For some reason, Jessa shook her head, grasped the handle, gave it a yank.

She couldn't miss the blatant stares as she stepped out of the little room, didn't miss the smirks and the whispers as she lifted her chin a notch and strode toward the staircase.  It seemed to her that everyone was watching her—some amused, some appalled, some merely curious—and far too many youkai . . .

"Guess he needed a little distraction . . . Can't blame him . . . This thing is always a little boring, ha ha . . ."

"Disgusting!  No shame at all!  Just look at her, will you . . .?"

"Can't blame her . . . I mean, he's hotter than hell . . ."

"Why on earth would the Zeligs have invited a tramp like that . . .?"

Biting down on the inside of her cheek, she tried to block them out, deliberately chose not to think about just what they knew or thought they knew . . . tried not to think at all . . .

"And it's time for our last bachelor of the night!  This is Ashur Philips.  He's a very fine hunk of man, isn't he?" another woman's voice rang out, clear and a little husky, almost on the dusty side of a near-purr, Jessa stopped, eyes widening as she watched Ashur, who stood beside the black-haired hanyou woman on the small stage that the band had occupied before.  "Ashur is a man of mystery, currently enjoying the good life after selling the company he worked tirelessly to build.  He's recently moved to Canada, but I've been told that he's due to be around New York City for the next week, so, ladies, get out your paddles because a fine man like him isn't going to go cheap!  Now, who wants to start the bidding?"

"Twenty thousand!" a voice rang out, clear as day, and Jessa gritted her teeth as Amy Baker held up a glittered number paddle.

"Twenty-five," another woman called out.  She, however, was lost in shadows, and Jessa couldn't see her.

' _What . . . is going on . . .?_ '

But even as the question occurred to her, she knew, didn't she?  The fabled bachelor auction that she'd heard whispers of all evening, and yet, there Ashur stood, hands in his pockets, a slight and somewhat bored little smile on his lips . . .

And she couldn't help the little whimper that slipped out of her as she stood, horrified, as the bids came fast and furious—as her world shattered entirely, completely, unrelentingly . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa stood under the hot water, eyes closed, as the steady flow ran over her head, down her body, down the drain . . .

" _If you live long enough, everyone lets you down eventually_."

Her eyes burned, hot, dry—ironic, wasn't it, given that she stood under a downpour of water . . .? A hoarse whimper slipped from her as the words came at her again—ghost whispers in the dark . . .

" _He sent me away . . . He was . . . How do you say?  He was my, uh, one love?  But he cannot . . . cannot . . . forget me?_ "

Nowhere to turn, no one at all . . . Everyone she loved . . . They were dead, or . . .

' _Ashur_ . . .'

" _She's only staying with me as a favor for her cousin—nothing more, nothing less . . . Is there something wrong with having casual sex with someone? . . . She's nothing more than a good fuck . . . Don't know if she'd have you, though.  You're a bit ugly for her tastes, and even then, she's a little clumsy—not really that good_."

Why was she so cold?  Standing under the steaming flow, and it wasn't nearly enough . . .

" _His nanny?  How ridiculous!  Did you see her face?  I mean, sure, she's kind of all right looking—if you like Raggedy Ann, anyway_ _. . . And that dress?  Who on earth wears a color like that to something like this?  She stands out more than Gin Zelig does . . . Trying to outshine the hostess?  Truly bad taste_. . ."

" _In all the wrong ways, maybe.  I mean, wearing a red dress with her hair?  She looks like a damn glowstick!_ "

But even the sound of that name, even in her head where no one else could hear . . . She choked out a sound—not a sob, not a groan—a pathetic little sound, like a broken thing . . .

" _Disgusting!  No shame at all!  Just look at her, will you . . .?_ "

" _Why on earth would the Zeligs have invited a tramp like that . . .?_ "

The escape from the hotel, her blind flight down the emergency stairwell, the flash of the bulbs of a score of reporters from tabloids, from online magazines, from newspapers as she broke through the front doors without waiting for the doormen to yank them out of the way . . . Shoes in her hands, barefoot she ran, ignoring the words—so many, many words . . .

And after all of it—all of it—that wild surge of hope, that crazy notion that she'd thought she'd seen . . . _something_ . . . in his eyes . . .

And the overwhelming understanding that she was nothing but a little girl—a little girl with a foolish dream that had all come crashing down on her . . .

" _You can't leave me, Jessa_ . . ."

Those words . . . Those were the ones that wrenched a sob from her, that shredded the last remaining strand of hope that she didn't know she had.

There was nothing, was there?  Nothing at all, and . . . and there never had been . . . She was no better than a toy to him, was she?  Nothing of value, nothing worth . . . worth keeping . . .

And she saw it now, didn't she?  The scope of her life, all laid out—those things she hadn't been able to see before . . . As clear as crystal, as empty as the desert—a lifetime of nothing at all.  Those words her mother had said what seemed like a lifetime ago . . . She understood it now, didn't she?

" _It's better to be content, Jessa.  Look for it where you can find it.  Marriage is only what you can make of it, you know.  There's more to life than being someone's mate, someone's mother.  As much as I love your da, it wasn't always like that. Back in the old days . . . Nothing is really permanent, no matter what they might say.  You were born to be a marchioness, maybe more.  Sometimes it's more important to do what's expected of you, to live a completely unremarkable life . . . It's your responsibility.  You weren't born a Daughtery, as I was.  You were born an O'Shea, and you must live your life as one . . ._ "

Shutting off the shower taps, Jessa wrapped her hair in a towel and struggled into her robe without bothering to dry herself off first.  Maybe . . . Maybe she wasn't born to be happy, or maybe she simply didn't know how to find it . . . Maybe she never had . . . Her mother, and those things she'd tried so hard to impart her . . . Those things she hadn't understood, not back then, but now . . .

A million moments flashed through her head: telling Orliath about the mean girls at school or at lessons or . . . or wherever, and her mother's sad smile as she told her to suck it up, a lady was above all of that . . .  Of her mother ordering her nanny to spend hours, straight ironing her hair, using black rinse on her hair every morning, trying to wash away the color that made Jessa stand out just a little too much . . . Of her father, running his hand over her hair, of the despised curls springing right back, of the black rinse fading way under his gentle flames, burning out the color until the ungodly red shone through . . .

" _They make fun of her at school, Niall!  That ridiculous hair of hers_ . . ."

" _It's no' ridiculous!  Her hair—_ "

" _You've never been a girl!  You have no idea how mean they can be!_ "

" _An' colorin' it daily?  That's gonna put a stop to it?  Nae ye're jus' bein' silly, Orlie.  Jessa should be praut!  Praut o' all o' her!_ "

Frowning at herself in the mirror, Jessa's gaze fell away.  How in the world could she have thought that Ashur—beautiful Ashur—could grow to care about her?  The joke?  The Raggedy Ann of every school she'd ever attended?  She'd aimed too high, dreamed too big, and now . . .

Now, there was nothing left for her, was there?  Nothing at all . . . but . . .

Yanking open the bathroom door, ignoring the cold air that hit her full-on, she hurried out of the bedroom, down the hallway and steps to grab the telephone.  Her hands were shaking as she scrolled through the caller ID memory.  Biting her lip, she dialed the number, closing her eyes against the pain that stabbed at her chest, at her heart as the call connected.

"MacDonnough."

"My lord," she said, her voice thin, reedy to her own ears.  "I'm . . . I'm sorry if it's late there . . . This is Jessa . . . Jessamyn O'Shea . . ."

"Lady O'Shea . . . To what do I owe the honor of this call?"

She flinched at the sarcasm in his tone, and she had to swallow hard to get past the growing knot in her throat.  "I . . . I was thinking about your . . . your offer . . ."

"The one you said you would . . . never accept?"

Gripping the receiver so tightly that her fingertips leeched white, she steeled her resolve as the click of the door in the distance occurred to her but went ignored.  "I . . . I'll accept your terms," she said.  "Please, if you . . . if you could, I . . . I need to return to Ireland as soon as possible . . ."

"Good . . . Good . . . I'm pleased to hear that you've come to your senses.  Just to show you that there are no ill-feelings, I'll make the arrangements for you.  I'll even order that your estate be opened to you upon your return."

"Thank you," she replied, an odd sense of finality, a strange sort of numbness, settled over her.

"I'll send someone over with your itinerary as soon as the arrangements are made, but I trust you'll be ready to travel within the next twenty-four hours."

"Yes, of course," she said.

The line went dead, and Jessa let out a deep breath as she let the receiver drop back into the docking station.

"Jessa?  What did you just do?"

She gasped at the deceptive quiet in her cousin's tone, and, very slowly, she turned to face her, unable to meet her gaze as she stared at the floor.  "I . . . I'm taking Lord MacDonnough's offer," she said, crossing her arms over her stomach.  "I'm going home."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Here," Myrna said, slipping a glass of wine into Jessa's shaking hands as she sat down on the sofa beside her.  The girl's hands were shaking, her fingers as cold as ice when she touched them, and she stared at the floor in an eerily blank sort of way.  She sighed.  "You need to tell me everything, Jessa."

"There's nothing to tell," Jessa said in a monotone.

Myrna frowned, set her glass aside as she stood up, as she stepped around the sofa to gently pull the towel from Jessa's hair.  Using it to squeeze the rest of the moisture out of her locks, she scowled at the girl's silence.  "There is something," she finally said.  "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

Jessa's back stiffened despite Myrna's attempt to be gentle with her tone.  "Of . . . Of course not . . . I . . ."

"Oh, honey . . ." Myrna sighed.  "Is he your mate?"

Her chin dipped a little lower as she pulled her feet up and wrapped her arms around them, careful not to spill her glass.  "N . . . No . . . No, he never . . . He isn't . . ."

"Are you . . . sure . . .?"

Resting her chin on her knees, Jessa gave her head just the tiniest shake.  "He . . . He's in love with someone else—someone from his past.  He never was . . . mine . . ."

"Jessa—"

Jessa cleared her throat.  "He . . . He paid me, Myrna."

"Well, sure.  I mean, you . . . you took care of Kells, right?"

"For sex."

Myrna's brain screeched to a dead stop.  ". . . What?"

Jessa sighed, probably because of the absolute menace in Myrna's one-word question.  "Every time we . . . There were . . . 'gifts' . . . I don't think he saw them as . . . But that's what it . . . felt like . . ."

"Babykins . . ." heaving a sigh of her own, Myrna stepped around the sofa and sat back down again, only this time, she reached over, pulled Jessa against her, held her like she was little more than a small child who'd had a bad dream . . . "You'd better start at the beginning."

For a moment, Myrna didn't think she would.  Slowly, though, she relaxed against Myrna's chest, her head resting against her heart.  "I . . . I don't know," she admitted, a hint of panic creeping into her tone.  "I don't know how it started . . . I don't . . . I don't know . . ."

"It's okay, it's okay," Myrna assured her, rubbing her shoulder, her arm as she rocked gently from side to side.  "What do you want to tell me?"

"He . . . He said he didn't want to be my  . . . my lifetime regret . . ." Jessa murmured, her voice muffled slightly.  Suddenly, she barked out a terse laugh that morphed into a choked sob as Myrna winced.  "Lifetime . . . regret . . ."

Myrna grimaced, unable to say, unable to do, anything, unable to reconcile the vile feeling of complete and utter helplessness that coursed through her as she held her cousin, as Jessa dissolved in a gale of tears—ugly tears, bitter tears . . . So many moments, during the course of the evening—the ill-conceived dinner and gala . . . It had taken Myrna all of ten seconds to realize the truth of it . . . Watching as Jessa looked for Ashur, time and time again, and the ocean of sadness that she simply couldn't hide . . . The girl had stared at him with her heart on her sleeve, that kind of expression that bespoke the absolute love, akin to almost hero-worship . . . The pain in her aura as she'd watched him dance with girl after girl that wasn't her . . .

And if there had been any doubt in Myrna's mind?  She'd seen Jessa's face when she danced with Ashur—that crazy-mad kind of love that she wore on her cuff . . . It was there for everyone to see, and as far she could tell, everyone had . . . And that foolish, stupid man hadn't seen it, had he?  Didn't recognize it for what it was . . .

And then, he'd dragged her off, and Myrna didn't delude herself into thinking that people either missed that or that they'd thought nothing of it.  She'd heard the whispers, the snide comments . . . And those people hadn't known a damn thing.  All they had seen was a man who hadn't danced with Jessa for more than a few minutes, and . . .

She grimaced, gritting her teeth at the thousands little comments she'd wanted to make, but hadn't.  Afraid of making it all even worse for Jessa, she'd kept her temper in check.  Curse the luck that there were so many youkai in attendance, because it was all entirely too clear when Ashur, then Jessa, had emerged from that room . . . And Myrna had watched, absolutely horrified, as the girl descended the staircase, as she'd realized that Ashur was up on that damned auction block, and she'd seen it in her face—Jessa hadn't known, didn't understand . . .

And Myrna's heart had broken when the girl ran out of there, fighting back tears, trying so hard to block out the whispers and the murmurs and the ugly, cruel words . . .

"But why, Jess?  Why in the hell did you agree to MacDonnough's ridiculous offer?" Myrna finally asked, kissing the girl on the head, taking her glass of wine and setting it aside, too.  "MacDonnough doesn't care about you, doesn't care about what you want . . . You know that, don't you?"

"What does it matter?" Jessa rasped out, struggling to sit up, to glower at Myrna.  "None of it matters!  _Nothing_ . . ." She choked on a sob.  " _Nothing_ matters . . .  _I_ don't matter to . . . to anyone . . . and—"

Myrna reached out, grasped Jessa's chin gently but firmly.  "No!  You are not allowed to pretend that you don't matter, Jessa O'Shea!  You're not allowed to _think_ it; you're not allowed to _believe_ it.  It's _not_ true.  You matter, little girl!  If nothing else, you matter to _me!_   Don't sell yourself short.  I don't care what those girls tonight said, what anyone there tonight said; I don't care what those snotty little rags at your fancy schools said.  You.  Are.  Beautiful—and if someone like Ashur Philips convinced you otherwise, then he's a damn fucking fool.  Do you hear me?"

Jessa blinked, stared at her.  "Myrna, you don't—"

"I said, 'no'!" Myrna growled.

Jessa tried to nod, tried to agree, but she choked, her face crumpling one more time.

And then, the tears came again . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** xSerenityx020 ——— oblivion-bringr
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda Gauger ——— minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— lianned88 ——— Crow ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from Myrna**_ :  
>  _Oh, I have a few things to say to you, Ashur Philips_ …


	61. Mistaken

Myrna raised her fist, pounded on the thick steel door—pounded hard, pounded loud—and didn't stop pounding against the surface, even when the side of her fist started to throb.  "Ashur, goddamn it!  Open the door!" she hollered, leaning to the side just far enough to bellow at the tiny security camera, beating on the door with one hand, smashing her index finger into the doorbell button over and over again with her other hand.  " _Open up now!_ "

Uttering a frustrated growl, Myrna gnashed her teeth, lips curling back in a grimace.  "If you don't open this damn door, I swear to God, I'll—"

"You'll what?  What the hell are you doing?" Ashur demanded, striding up the sidewalk behind her, glowering at her extreme abuse of his front door.  In his hand was a bouquet of roses—roses such a rich, dark red that they almost matched the color of Jessa's eyes . . .

"Give me one good reason that I shouldn't rip that pretty face of yours to shreds, Ashur Philips—or should I call you Kyouhei Muira?  Because right now, I don't give a great goddamn which one you are.  I want to kill you— _kill you_ —but I can't, so . . ." Drawing a deep breath that did nothing at all to calm her rioting nerves, Myrna glowered at him as he touched the Identilock to release the door and stepped inside, leaving the door standing ajar to allow her to follow him.

She did, dropping her carry-on bag onto the floor.  "Are those for Jessa?"

He heaved a sigh, set the flowers aside as he stalked past her and into the living room, heading straight for the wetbar to pour himself a rather obscenely full glass of cognac.  Only after he'd slammed that back did he bother to turn to face Myrna, gaze flashing with indignant fire that only served to send Myrna's already skyrocketing temper spiraling higher.  "Of course, they're for her," he growled.  "Who else would I buy them for, anyway?"

Myrna nodded, turning on her heel, snatching up the flowers that she proceeded to club against the wall as hard as she could.  Petals flew off, stems snapped and broke.  "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his footsteps falling heavily as he hurried to intercept her.

It was too late, of course, satisfied with the mangled pieces still left in her hand, she dropped them carelessly on the petal-littered floor and glowered up at Ashur.  "Stop giving her shit she doesn't want and didn't ask for—stop giving her your so-called _gifts_ after you fuck her—after you _use_ her—after you _humiliate_ her!" she bellowed.

He drew back, his face registering his shock, his confusion, at her accusation.  Seconds later, anger ignited, nudged those other, weaker emotions aside.  "I didn't use her, and I most certainly never humiliated her!  I—"

"And what the hell do you call last night?  You drag her off into one of those rooms—rooms that aren't soundproofed, you realize—in a gathering of way too many youkai!  They called her a whore, Ashur— _your_ whore!  Your tramp, your cheap little fling!  And then you step out there, you step onto that auction block, and you—you didn't see her face, did you?  Of course, you didn't!  Why the hell would you do that?  Why?"

As much as she wished it were otherwise, the stricken look in his face—the one that he tried to hide from her—spoke volumes.  He looked about the same as Jessa had last night—so lost, so bewildered—like he didn't understand it all any better than she did.  It was that, alone, that quelled at least a portion of her anger, of her antipathy—not entirely, but she sighed.  "Do you have any idea?  Do you?  The way she watched you all night, and then, when you danced with her?  She tried to hide it, but she can't.  Maybe she never learned how—I don't know.  I don't _care._   All I know is that when she danced with you, everyone saw it: everyone that looked at her knew it.  That girl . . . She . . ."  Trailing off, waving her hand dismissively, Myrna shook her head.  "You _destroyed_ her Ashur—utterly, completely.  You bulldozed her, and you . . . you really don't understand, do you?"

He heaved a sigh, glowered at the wall, at the floor—everywhere but at Myrna.  "Understand what?" he countered.

And yet, as belligerent as his words were, his tone was leveled by a sad sense of confusion, of . . . of pain . . . He really, he honestly . . . Myrna stifled a growl, dragged a hand over her forehead in an entirely exasperated kind of way, but it was that confusion, that pain, that forced her to swallow her anger, her impatience, as she slowly shook her head.  "Jessa told me everything last night," she said.  "Told me how things started between the two of you . . . Told me where it went . . . She doesn't understand it any better than you do, apparently . . . But she told me how you wanted her when it was just the two of you, but add anyone into that mix, and she became your afterthought—"

"She's never been my—"

"I don't give a shit, what she is or isn't to you, Ashur!  I'm telling you how _she_ sees it—how _she_ interpreted it all, and either you want to hear it or you don't, but if you don't . . . " Trailing off, she dragged in another deep breath, struggled to retain the calm that was fast eluding her.  "Whatever your intentions were, I really don't care.  Jessa only saw what she saw, and her feelings are her own, so don't you dare argue your innocence to me.  You didn't want anyone else to know, right?  So you dragged her off where no one would hear, no one would smell, no one would see—and maybe— _maybe_ —I can understand that to some extent, but it doesn't matter because _she_ doesn't.  All she sees is another person in her life who handed her off—not to the nannies or the governesses or the private schools, but it's all the same, isn't it?  Out of sight, out of mind, and no one— _no one_ —needs to know your dirty little secret . . . right, Ashur?"

He winced, had the grace to blush as he squeezed his eyes closed, as he slowly shook his head.  "I thought . . . I thought it would ruin her good name," he muttered.  "I thought . . ."

 "And the gifts?"

He grimaced, shot Myrna a baleful glower.  "That is a misunderstanding," he insisted.  "I know what she thought, but . . . But that wasn't ever my intention, and if I could just talk to her, I'd tell her—"

"You know, it's not even about the gifts!  It's about the affection that isn't there!  If you'd stopped for just five minutes, took that time to touch her, to smile at her—hell, just to give her a hug for no good reason, then she wouldn't have even thought that, in the first place!  She can't read your mind, Ash, and you can't read hers!  How the two of you got so far, I'll never know.  For the love of God, you realize, don't you?  Everything you've done to her from the start—all of it . . . And . . . And I'm so damn stupid because I thought . . ."

"Thought what?" Ashur bellowed, his temper snapping at last.  "What did you think, Myrna?  You . . . _You_ dumped her on me without a backward glance!  You—"

" _I thought you could fix her, damn it!_   I thought that, if anyone could reach her, could _help_ her, it would be someone who knew loss because I sure as hell don't!  You were supposed to reach out to her, to _help_ her, to be her friend, and all you've done is break her—break her beyond recognition—to the point that I don't know if she _can_ be fixed!  _You_ did that, not me!  _Damn_ you, Ashur, how the hell could you do that?  _How?_ "

Eyes flaring wide, just for a moment, just before he raked his hands through his hair—hair that had escaped the low hanging ponytail he normally wore, he grimaced at whatever he was thinking as he slowly shook his head, as he heaved a frustrated sigh.  "She . . ."

Smashing her hands against her eyes for a second, willing back the anger that had frothed forward, thick and ugly, she let out a deep breath.  "What do you see when you look at her, Ash?  Just tell me that."

He seemed confused by her question, or maybe it wasn't her question.  Maybe it was more of a general confusion brought on by not really understanding why she'd ask him something that should have been obvious . . . "She's . . . She's beautiful . . . I . . ."

Myrna nodded.  "Okay, then I guess a better way to say it is, what do you see when you look at yourself in the mirror?"

He shook  his head.  "That's . . . I . . . I just see myself."

"Do you know what Jessa sees?  Every single time she looks in the mirror?"

His answer was a dark look, a slight narrowing of his gaze.

Myrna made a face.  "She sees the names, the taunts, the hateful things that people—that _girls_ —have said to her over the years.  She sees the years of her nannies' complaints about the tangles and snarls that hair like hers would invariably end up in.  She sees the black dye her mom used to wash into her hair every damn day—the straightening iron she used every damn day—to keep the other kids from making fun of Raggedy Ann, of Lil' Orphan Annie . . . I _heard_ all this.  Orlaith used to complain about it all the time—how Jessa would cry to her daddy, and he would fire those nannies, only to hire another, and it all began again . . . How her daddy would see her hair, would burn out the dye, would revert her hair to the curls and the bouncy locks that he loved so much . . . How there wasn't a damn thing on earth that could do anything about that ghostly skin of hers—that beautiful Irish complexion?  Milk maid, they teased her . . . Too tall, too skinny, too this, too that, with only her daddy to tell her that she was pretty . . . These were things _her mother_ told me.  Now . . . do you understand?"

To his credit, Ashur looked dully appalled by the truth, so eloquently stated—appalled, and a little sickened, too.  Hand shaking as he reached up to rub his forehead, color drained out of his face, leaving him pale and almost a sickly shadow of himself . . .

"That's why it's so easy for her to believe that she means nothing to you," Myrna reiterated, stomping past him, refilling his glass and filling one for herself, too.  "So much easier to believe these terrible things—like she's nothing but a convenient fuck . . ." She sighed.  "Did you say that, Ashur?  Did you, really?"

He grimaced, taking the drink she handed him, tossing it back in one large gulp.  "It's not what she thought," he muttered, but his voice lacked any real conviction.  "It was . . . was someone from that faction.  They found me, and they found out about her, and . . . and they had . . . pictures . . ."

Myrna nodded.  "And you were trying to downplay your relationship to keep them away from her."

He jerked his head once in a nod of agreement, looking all the more miserable in the doing.  "I . . . I didn't know she'd heard me or I'd have told her . . . I . . ." He winced, blue eyes clouding over, darkening as he scowled at the wall.  "I didn't want to . . . hurt . . . her . . ."

"Is she your mate?"

His head snapped to the side, his gaze startlingly direct, and he narrowed his eyes as she saw the stubbornness kick in.  Whether he didn't know or if he just didn't want to tell her, she didn't know, but she quickly shook her head before he could start blustering.  "You need to tell me, Ashur.  I need to know."

He glared at her for a long second.  She thought that he really wasn't going to answer her.  Then he winced.  "I . . . Y-Yes," he whispered, no more than a breath, as though maybe it was the first time he was actually admitting that much, even to himself.

Myrna nodded.  "I thought so.  Then you need to know . . . When I got home last night, Jessa was on the phone.  She . . . She was talking to the MacDonnough.  She . . . She accepted his offer.  He'll allow her to go home, back to _her_ home, but she's agreed to marry whomever he's chosen."

" _The hell—!_ " he exploded.

Myrna held up a hand to stop him before he could really get going.  "The courier brought by her itinerary just before I came over here.  Her flight is leaving at four today.  You have until one to figure out if you're going to let her go—and you know where that will leave you—or if you're going to take this one last chance to get things right because you're the only one who can—if she'll even listen to you now."

"Over my dead body," he growled.

Setting the glass aside on a table, Myrna strode over to retrieve her bag, digging into the side compartment, pulling out a keycard for her condo.  "I left her, sleeping on the sofa where she fell asleep last night.  She was exhausted . . . cried herself out, actually . . . This is absolutely your last chance, you know?  You need to fix this before it's too late—for both of you—for Kells . . ."  Handing over the card, she shouldered the bag, reached for the door.  "I've got a plane to catch myself.  Cain asked me last night to look into something for him, so . . . Tell her you love her, Ash.  I get it.  You're Japanese, and it's a hard thing for you to say, but you do if she's your mate.  Just, uh . . . leave that card on the table, will you?"

Then she opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, biting her lip with a frown, wondering if it was just too little, too late—and praying that it wasn't . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ashur frowned as he stretched out on his bed, as he gently pushed Jessa's hair back off of her face.  He'd gone straight to Myrna's and, instead of waking her, he'd gathered her up, raced her home across rooftops and through alleys, as he tried to make sense of the things that Myrna had said.  Just how in the hell was it that she honestly could think that she was anything less than perfect?  That she was anything less than drop dead gorgeous . . .? It made no sense to him, and yet . . .

He winced inwardly, clenching his jaw tight as a surge of seething rage shot through him—rage at unknown faces, unknown people—who had the audacity to belittle her—to try to tear her down . . . And yet, if he were honest, it was there the whole time, wasn't it?  In the depths of her gaze, in the surprise on her face, in the embarrassment that always surfaced about the time he called her beautiful . . .

He had no idea, just how his intentions had gotten so twisted around, like every single thing he'd tried to do for her had blown up in his face, had ended up, having the opposite effect . . . He hadn't realized, though maybe he should have . . . He'd never thought . . .

But staring at her in the harsh light of the mid-morning sun that spilled through the bank of windows on the far wall, Ashur had no idea just where to start, just what to say, if he had the right to say anything at all, and yet . . . And yet, there wasn't a choice in it, because Myrna was right.  It really was his very last chance . . .

His frown deepened as he gazed at the harsh shadows, the smudges of darkness underneath the sooty fringe of her lashes.  Was it just his imagination, the way her cheeks seemed to be sunken just a little, the usual glow of her skin seemed diminished . . .?

"Jessa," he murmured, grasping her hand, cradling it to his cheek as he heaved a weary sigh.  He hadn't slept at all in the night, unable or unwilling, he didn't know.  He hadn't heard the murmurs, the innuendos, but he didn't doubt what Myrna had said, either.  The one thing he'd never wanted to do to Jessa, and he'd accomplished it anyway, and with ridiculous fanfare, too . . .

' _Just what . . . am I supposed to say to her?  I never meant to . . ._ ' he sighed.

' _You could try talking to her, for starters . . . All these things you thought you were doing right, and it turns out that you weren't . . . But you didn't know, didn't realize, and . . . and she needs to know that, doesn't she . . .?_ '

' _Then what in the hell should I start with?_ '

' _Well, you could start with, 'I love you', like Myrna suggested . . . That might get her attention . . ._ '

He made a face.  ' _I'm Japanese.  We don't . . . I mean, that's just not something . . ._ '

' _It's not something you say.  I get that.  I do.  I understand that it feels odd, maybe even unnatural, but you know, Jessa . . . She isn't Japanese, and you're not in Japan, and if you really want her to listen to you, maybe you should consider, bending the rules, just a little . . ._ '

"I . . . love . . . you," he murmured with a frown, wondering if the words really sounded as weird out loud as they did in his mind.

' _Yeah, okay, so maybe you ought to try that when she's awake, Kyouhei._ '

His retort was cut short by a wide yawn, and he blinked, fighting to keep his eyes open, but something about her proximity, regardless of whether or not she was seriously angry with him . . . She still calmed him, soothed him . . .

The real problem was that he had no idea, just where to start, how to explain things to her when everything had gone so awry.  He had to fix it.  There wasn't a choice, and he knew it.  Everything in his life had come down to this: to one insular moment where he could fix things— _had_ to fix things—or let everything go—everything.

Somewhere along the line, she'd become so much more than he'd ever bargained for that first day, when he'd opened the door, when he'd let her into his home, into his life, into Kells' life . . .

"I thought you could fix her, damn it! _I thought that, if anyone could reach her, could_ help _her, it would be someone who knew loss because I sure as hell don't!  You were supposed to reach out to her, to help her, to be her friend, and all you've done is break her—break her beyond recognition—to the point that I don't know if she_ can _be fixed!_ You _did that, not me!_ Damn _you, Ashur, how the hell could you do that?_ How?"

Grimacing as Myrna's words came back to him, he sighed.  All of those things she'd said in the beginning . . . All of it was a well-constructed act, designed to get Ashur to agree to take Jessa in because Myrna . . . She'd cared more than she ever wanted to admit all along . . . and somehow, that made sense, too . . .

But even if Myrna had issued her own advice, given him insight that he hadn't had before . . . There were so many things that Ashur hadn't told her, and whether he was trying to protect her—that's what he'd told himself—or if he simply hadn't wanted to deal with those things . . .

He . . . He really hadn't given Jessa those things that she needed to hold onto.  Those things that he'd told himself were far too ugly for a girl like her to ever understand . . . The reality was that he . . . He was the one who was afraid—afraid of thinking about those things, afraid of having to deal with them on a level that maybe he hadn't done before . . . And yet, those things . . . They were the often ugly truths that had formed him into who he was, and just how could she ever feel as though she knew him— _really_ knew him—without that base understanding . . .?

Even so, something told him that it still wasn't time—not now.  Right now, he just had to convince her that those bigger things that frightened her only existed in her mind—to convince her to believe . . .

And maybe, just maybe, there really were still dreams, even for someone like him . . . Maybe Jessa was the dream he'd been living without for so long, and if he could fix it—really fix it . . . maybe …

Eyes drifting closed as he pulled Jessa back against his chest, as he wrapped his body around hers, absently savoring the warmth of her that felt so comfortable, so familiar, so welcome, he sighed.

Maybe . . . he could believe in dreams, too . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** xSerenityx020
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda Gauger —— monsterkittie ——— minthegreen ——— Okmeamithinknow ——— patalaxe
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Crow ——— Nate Grey ——— cutechick18
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _Finally_ …


	62. Aftermath

Jessa awoke with a slight frown as a strange sense of familiarity seeped through her, even though she really didn't know why.  As she swam up through layers of sleep, she slowly opened her eyes, blinked as the room came into focus, despite the waning sun, spilling through the row of windows, it was a sense of muted panic, a surge of understanding that still didn't make a bit of sense to her . . .

The scent that surrounded her both comforted and alarmed her by turns, and she sat up quickly, shaking her head as she tried to figure out just how she'd gotten here . . .

Ashur was nowhere to be seen, and that thought was nearly enough to send her into a blind panic, though, to be honest, she wasn't sure if it was his proximity—the scent of him that hung onto everything in that room that surrounded her—or the idea that he wasn't there that bothered her more . . .

Skittering off the bed, she held her forehead between her hands.  It didn't make any sense, did it?  She'd fallen asleep last night—this morning?—on Myrna's sofa, didn't she?  Just how the hell did she end up here . . .? And in her robe, no less . . .?  Even worse, she was pretty sure that she didn't leave any of her clothes here when they'd moved to Canada, either, and why would she?  She hadn't thought that she'd be coming back here, but there really wasn't any way she could walk to Myrna's dressed as she was—or wasn't.

' _I . . . I think Ashur brought us here . . ._ '

Scowling at her youkai-voice's words, she shook her head.  ' _N-No . . . He . . . He wouldn't . . . Myrna . . . She wouldn't let him; not after everything I told her last . . .night . . ._ '

Uttering a half-moan, a half-whimper as the memories of last night shot to the fore—everything, all of it, from the moment she'd walked into that grotesquely beautiful hotel until the time she'd fled from it—all of it, warped and spinning and sickening and shocking and . . . and . . .

Jessa grimaced and hurried out of the bedroom, as if her very memories had somehow managed to come to life, to live and breathe in that room, had morphed into the monsters that they were in her mind . . . Anywhere but there, she thought wildly as she dashed down the hallway, toward the stairs.  She'd just have to call her cousin, demand that she come get her . . .

As luck would have it, Ashur wasn't downstairs, either.  She could tell that much as she grabbed the landline phone and dialed Myrna's number.  Her cell phone redirected immediately to voicemail, and she sighed as she punched in the number for her home phone at the condo.

After four rings, the answering machine kicked on, and she grimaced at the message, drumming her claws on the highly polished antique table as she waited impatiently for the beep.  "Myrna, it's Jessa.  I'm . . . I'm at Ashur's, and I have no idea how I got here.  If you're there, can you come get me, and . . ." She grimaced.  "And bring me some clothes, please . . . Thanks . . ."

Dropping the phone back into the base, she sighed, rubbing her face with her trembling hands.  Well, she'd just . . . just go hide in her old room, she supposed.  She couldn't bring herself to go back to Ashur's room, not with everything still so raw, so close . . . It didn't matter that she had never been intimate with Ashur here.  It didn't matter at all, not when the base scent of his room, of his domain, were the same, and those scents were the ones that had the power to draw both the beauty as well as the absolute horror from her mind, but it was the beauty that she feared because that same beauty . . . That was the thing that she simply could not fight . . .

Before she could make her hasty getaway, however, Ashur opened the door and strode inside with her black satchel over his arm and a few garment bags held over his shoulder, and a large paper shopping bag dangling from his fingers.  He spotted her, his expression inscrutable, and he kicked the door closed with his foot.  "I went to Myrna's and got your stuff," he told her unnecessarily.  "She left a note for you . . . Let me set this stuff down, and I'll dig it out of my pocket . . ."

"Why . . . am I here?" she asked, crossing her arm over her stomach, holding the top of her robe closed with the other hand.

"Myrna had to leave.  Cain asked her to look into something, so I brought you over here," he told her, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.  Something about his tone, though . . . The clipped, almost curt way he was speaking . . .

She flinched inwardly, made her feet move to retrieve her things from him.  "I . . . I can't stay here," she informed him, grasping the bag and trying to pull it off his shoulder.

He didn't let go of it as he headed for the stairs.  "Of course, you can," he told her from halfway up the staircase.  "You missed your flight anyway, and before you say anything else, I guess I'll just tell you now: your plan of running off to Ireland and getting hitched just to get your estate?  Yeah, that's not happening, period."

"That's none of your business!" she growled, grasping the long ends of the robe as she hurried up the stairs after him.  "I _am_ going!  I already talked to the MacDonnough, and he's making arran—I missed the flight?"

"Yeah, you did, and I tore up the whole damn thing, so even if you wanted to try to switch flights, it won't work."

"You—You have no right!" she hollered, chasing him down the hallway and into his room, where he finally set down her luggage before yanking open the walk-in closet to put it all away.  "You can't make decisions for me!  You—"

"That's where you're wrong, Jessa.  You're not going anywhere, most especially not to Ireland—not to play right into that bastard's master plan.  I don't know why he's so set on seeing you married off, but you can bet it's not for your benefit—it's for his, and the day I let you go do that is the day I drop dead."

"You have no right—"

"I have _every_ damn right!" he growled.  "You're my—"

"You . . . You can't tell me what to do!" she insisted, cutting him off before he could finish, stomping her foot as her temper spiked.

"You're right.  In most things, I can't, but in this?  You better believe I can, and I am, and just in case you think you're going to sneak off when I'm not paying attention?  Your passport's not here."

"What did you do with it?" she shrieked, finally yanking her bag away from him as she sank onto the bed and rifled through it.  Sure enough, the passport was missing—along with her driver's license, too.  The only thing in the bag was her birth certificate, and didn't that just figure?  "This isna funny, Ashur Philips!" she growled, dropping the bag on the floor as the thicker brogue that she normally kept carefully under wraps shot to the fore.  "Whoot did ye do with me things?"

His voice drifted out of the closet where he was hanging up her garment bags.  "I mailed them."

"Ye . . . Ye whoot?" she demanded, hating the calm, controlled way that he was speaking to her, like she was little more than a child—a willful, obstinate child, at that.

He leaned back far enough to look her dead in the eye.  "I mailed them," he stated once more.

"Mailt 'em?  Mailt 'em, where?"

The look he shot her told her quite plainly that he thought she was being a little dim for no good reason.  "Quebec, Jessa—I mailed them _home_."

"Oh, of all th' bluity, daft, pig-headed, arse-ended—Ye had nae right!"

"I had _every_ right when you can't even stand there and talk to me, goddamn it!" he bellowed.  "You've not said one damn thing to me—to _me_ —without yelling, without bellowing, without your own ridiculous notions so firmly in your head that you can't even hear what I'm saying when I'm saying it!"

Jessa drew back, the color draining out of her face at his explosion of temper, and suddenly, she just needed to get away—to put some distance between them because she just couldn't stand it anymore.  Whipping around on her heel, she stomped away in the only direction she had to go—the bathroom.  Slamming the door behind herself, she slapped her hand against the wall panel as her emotions frothed and roiled.  Yanking off the robe, she blinked furiously as a fresh wash of tears stung her eyelids, and she'd just made it into the shower and shut the glass door when the bathroom door slammed open then closed with a resounding bang.  "What's that all about?" Ashur demanded.

"Get oot," she growled, mollified for the moment that he wouldn't dare have the audacity to get into the shower stall with her.

"Not until you explain exactly why you're trying to run away from me! Why you ran away in the first place," he retorted, slapping the glass door open so hard that she was surprised that it didn't shatter, crossing his arms over his chest as he stubbornly stood his ground.

She growled again as her temper spiked, as she reached for the only thing she could find to cover herself—a wash cloth—before it registered to her that he already knew damn well what she looked like naked, so did it really matter?  "I tault ye last night!  Ye don' wan' me!  Ye've _never_ wanted me!  I was just convenient and . . . and willing and—"

"And I told you that I didn't mean that!  Those bastards got pictures of you—pictures of _us_ by the pond—and what the hell was I supposed to do?   I _had_ to lie!  I had to keep you safe, and I didn't know you heard me because _you never said!_ "

"Oh, I was supposed to say?" she challenged, eyes flashing wide, flashing fire, smoldering hot, enough to smite him on the spot, and still he stubbornly stood his ground.  "Ye don' love me!  Ye've _ne'er_ loved me!  And that's— _Just go away!_ "

"The hell I'm going away!" he bellowed back, wound so tightly that the tendons in his neck stood out, his own eyes igniting dangerously, one hand on the shower door, bracing it open, lest she try to slam it closed.  "You have to listen to me, damn it!  I've—"

" _I'm through being your whore!_ " she screamed, throwing the washcloth at him.  It hit him, dead center on his chest and fell away with a pathetic plop as it squelched on the floor.

His eyes flared wide as his mouth dropped open, and the expression on his face might well have been comical—if she weren't well past irate and fast approaching Ground Zero, total meltdown—and if she didn't feel like crying . . .

"I didn't—Have you lost your mind, Jessa?  That's not—"

"Isn't it?" she countered, body shaking as her anger swelled well beyond her ability to control it.

"No, it isn't!" he snapped, reaching out, grabbing her wrists, drawing her up against him.  She fought him, not that it did any good.  Too damn strong for her to break his grip . . . "Stop.  It," he growled, ignoring the fact that he was soaked to the skin, too.  "You're not my . . . I never meant to treat you like—That was never my intention!"

"Of course nae," she spat, yanking against him, trying to turn her hands, trying to scratch him, but succeeding only in clawing at the air.  "When all's said and done, then I'll have me pretty pennies to shine up all nice and—"

"That's not it, Jessa—All those things I bought you, I thought they'd make you happy!  That you'd like them just because—"

"Let.  Go.  Of.  Me."

". . . No."

"Ashur—"

"No!" he growled, giving her a little shake.

She stared at him for a minute, her body going entirely still.  Something about the way he was looking at her, the fire that was banked in the depths of his gaze . . . Something about the expression on his face . . . He felt as lost, as confused as she did, and maybe it wasn't for the same reasons . . . The misery she saw, that sense of realization that he honestly had no idea just what she was saying, and . . . And somehow, that was her fault, wasn't it?  Because she'd never . . . ' _Stop fussing, Jessa!  Take what you're given, and be glad of it!  In this world, a woman is only ever given enough—and that is, most certainly, enough . . ._ ' Did it matter, really?  She had a feeling that it didn't . . .

His grip on her arms loosened just a little, whether he realized it or not, and she pulled away, only to throw herself against him, as she locked her arms around his neck, as she rose up to meet him in a scorching kiss.  He met her, welcomed her, shoved her back against the cool tile wall, entirely ignoring the water that coursed over the both of them.

He groaned into her mouth, his tongue delving into hers, rubbing against hers, shifting her anger into an all-consuming need, the familiar ache and burn, that she welcomed and despised by turns, and yet . . .

The dulled, yet shocking sound of his shirt, being rent under her claws echoed in the tiny space as she shredded the cloth away from his chest, as she pushed it off of his shoulders, down his arms, only to fall in a ruined heap on the floor of the shower stall.  He uttered a terse growl—a roughened sound—as he grabbed her hands before she could reach for his pants, too . . .

"P-Please," she whimpered, head falling to the side as his lips dropped to her throat, and somewhere in the vast, wide space that she tried so desperately to close, he . . .

He sighed.

Suddenly, though, he pulled back, struggling to breathe, slowly shaking his head as every fiber of her being screamed and raged and ached.  "Sorry," he said, his voice raspy, cloying, and he wouldn't look her in the eye.  Stepping back, shoving his sodden bangs up off of his face, he looked up, down, side to side—anywhere but directly at her.  Licking his lips, drawing unsteady breaths, he shook his head again.  "I shouldn't have . . . We'll talk about his later—after we've both calmed down."

She stared at him, leaning back against the wall, hands flat against the tiles as her knees still threatened to buckle, and for every moment that he stubbornly refused to look at her, she felt a shard of her heart, falling away, washing down the drain, invisible and forgotten, like the remnants of a feast or common litter on the streets of Belfast . . .

The one time when she'd sneaked away from school, spent the afternoon, walking the streets in the more dilapidated part of town, watching as the tiny shops closed up for the day . . . Unsold loaves of bread, of rolls, of sweet buns . . . wilted flowers that wouldn't be pretty, come morn . . . rotting produce . . . the disappointed expressions on the shopkeepers' faces as they picked out the bad things to toss them away . . .

And she . . . She'd realized it at the time, hadn't she?  That she was no better than those things, was she?  The leftovers that would lie in bins in the alleys, forgotten and lost and . . .

He turned without another word, started for the door as a roughened sob slipped out of her—one that he wasn't ever meant to hear—as she slowly sank to the floor.

"Jessa," he said, whipping around, finally daring to look at her, staring in horror as she buried her face in her trembling hands, as she uttered the most piteous sound he'd ever heard.  Caught somewhere between a sob and a moan, it brought to mind the sound of something dying, of something wishing for the release of death and the oblivion that came along with it, as though the very act of living were far, far too painful, and that the sound came from her . . .? Flinching as he scooped her up, as he slapped the panel to stop the water, he grimaced as he yanked some towels off the rack and carried her out of the bathroom.

"Don't cry," he murmured, ignoring the idea that he was soaked to the skin as he sat on the edge of the bed with her cradled in his arms, clumsily trying to shake out a towel with one hand, to wrap her in it as she sobbed against his shoulder.  Somewhere in his head, he registered the resistance in her youki—a resistance that wasn't present as she leaned against him, as though her entire being was somehow broken beyond repair.  It was the sound of it that was hardest to stomach—a completely razed sound, a devastation that he didn't fully comprehend, even if he did know that it was his fault—all his fault . . . There was no art to the sound, no hidden attempt to twist his emotions, to manipulate his thoughts.  She didn't have to . . . Because he'd heard her sob over her lost parents, hadn't he?  Heard her cry, saw her suffer, but the sound of her sorrow was nothing at all like this . . . Darker, harsher, sadness tinged by an undeniable confusion, a pain so vast, so unyielding that he didn't begin to understand, just how she'd withstood it, at all . . . And somehow, it was far, far worse . . . Far uglier . . . and far more tragically beautiful, too . . .

"Jessa, I'm sorry," he said, over and over again.  Maybe she was too far gone to hear him, too lost in her own world of misery for him to reach her.  Closing his eyes, he winced, held her a little tighter, wondering exactly how it had spiraled out of his control.  "Don't cry . . . Please, don't cry . . ."

He had no idea if she cried for seconds or minutes or hours.  Her body shook long after her tears had stopped, as she slowly wound down to hiccups, to stunted breaths.  Taking one of the other towels, he shifted her just enough so that he could see her face, so he could wipe her tears, but he gritted his teeth, almost wishing that he hadn't moved her at all, not when he could see the vacant look in her eyes, the overwhelming emptiness that cut him deep . . .

He sighed.  "I never, ever thought—I didn't realize that you believed that," he murmured, hoping, praying that his words might reach her.  "That was never, ever my intention.  I . . . I wasn't . . . wasn't  paying you for . . . for any of that . . . I just wanted . . . wanted to please you, and I . . . I failed, didn't I?  I'm sorry, Jessa . . ."

She sighed, as though she'd spent all of her emotion.  Maybe she had.  He didn't know.  "It doesn't change . . . anything," she whispered.  "Your feelings . . ."  She drew a deep breath—a breath that was interrupted by hiccups, by choking stutters.  "You can't change them, even if . . . Even if you didn't mean what you said . . ."

He winced at the quiet desperation in her voice, in her words—in her aura.  It was the same that night, wasn't it?  The night she'd come to him—the night she'd said her whispered goodbyes without words, using her body because those words . . . "You . . . You can't leave me," he told her, kissing her forehead.  "I'm sorry . . . I never meant to hurt you . . . but you can't leave me . . ."

Those glassy eyes of hers—eyes almost glazed over as that sense of emptiness widened so far down inside her that he couldn't reach it, as she listened without hearing, like she'd heard it all before . . . Somewhere in his mind, he realized that her feelings—feelings that ripped her apart so deeply—he had no idea where they came from or why . . . or how to help her fix it . . . if it could be fixed, at all . . . "And . . . And when you grow tired of me?   What then?"

"What makes you think I will?" he demanded quietly, his temper rising once more despite the tight rein he had on it.  Erupting in an indignant rage . . . It would do nothing to aid his plight, and might end up making everything—everything—just a little bit worse, too . . .

She sighed quietly, more of a movement than a sound, but her tone . . . It horrified him.  There was no inflection, no emotion, just a pragmatic, even inevitable, emptiness behind her words.  "Everyone grows weary of even their favorite toys . . ."

He sighed, too, frowning at her, hating that vagueness that lingered in her gaze, and ignoring the urge to shake her, to try to get her to come back, even if her response was anger.  He could take that, but she . . . she couldn't.  "And that's what you think I see you as?  A toy?"

"I'm Raggedy Ann," she murmured in that same empty tone.

He couldn't stop the sharply indrawn breath, the grimace that he just couldn't hide.  The lilt of her lyrical brogue, those words . . . and all the things that Myrna had said . . . Even now, he realized, that he'd _heard_ her, and yes, he had known she spoke the truth, and yet . . . And yet, maybe some small part of him really hadn't believed her assertions . . . Not until Jessa had just spelled it out in an entirely chilling and debilitating kind of way, like she was talking about the weather or describing the way paint dried on a wall . . .

' _What . . . the hell . . .?  Who gave anyone the right to . . . to say such things to her, when she . . .? And . . . And she really_ does _believe it, doesn't she . . .?_ '

Grimacing at the absolute revulsion in his youkai's words, Ashur couldn't confirm or deny it, and Jessa . . . Those vibrant eyes of hers . . . That dullness that she'd wrapped around herself like some sort of buffer . . . Just how many times over the years had she heard things like that—things that could break anyone if they heard them often enough?  It was maddening and disgusting and repugnant and . . . and somehow, just a little grimly poetic . . .

A sharp, stabbing ache at the realization of what a lifetime of those kinds of taunts had done to her . . . It was unbearable, that pain, and he didn't think as he leaned down, shifting her in his lap, covering her lips with his, and the only thought, if it really was a thought, was that the agony he felt in her . . . He had to do something— _anything_ —even if the only thing he had to give her was himself . . . Because she was Jessa, and . . . and he loved her . . .

Slowly, almost timidly, she seemed to come alive, her arms slipping up around his neck, her lips parting under his like a burgeoning spark.  The connection between them was instant: a gentle burn—Jessa's fire . . .

Her fingers tangled in his hair, tracing little circles on the nape of his neck, the base of his skull, drawing shivers from him, tempering his own rioting emotions, bringing him back, full circle, to where he belonged.

The beginning, the end, and somewhere between . . . the touch of her youki, of her emotions as they fired back to life, as the careful construction of her own barriers—the ones she'd built around herself—tumbled down.  Shifting his weight, he laid her on the bed, leaned over her without breaking the kiss, his anger slowly melting away, the despair that he'd felt in her, seeming to dissolve, leaving her fresh, clean, opening like the flower after a storm, maybe, or maybe . . .

"You'll be the death of me yet, Ashur Philips," she murmured when he leaned away to stare at her.  Eyes half-closed, peering up at him through a haze of flames—those eyes so sad despite the passion that illuminated her gaze . . .

"No, Jessa," he told her, leaning down, gently kissing her eyelids, shoving back the impatient desire to touch her, to take her, to possess her.  "You're going to _live_ . . . with us . . . with me . . . because I can't . . . not without you . . ."

He could sense the questions in her, kissed her once more to stop them before she could give them voice.  Unwilling to allow her to retreat again, he stroked her cheek, kissed her gently as she sighed, as she tried to hold him close, willing her to understand just how beautiful she really was, wishing on some level that he was a little more eloquent, that he could put his thoughts to words, and yet . . .

And yet, maybe she did understand.  Hands slipping around his neck as he sank his fingers deep into her hair, she held onto him, her lips opening to his perusal, her youki slowly unfurling, mingling with his in the most glorious and somehow humbling way.  She shivered slightly when he tried to shift his body, the dampness of his clinging pants likely chilling her, and he sighed, rolling onto his side, reaching down with one hand to unfasten them, to shove them down and kick them away.

Jessa's body jerked this time when he kicked a leg over, the cool of his damp skin shocking her, even though she pressed herself against him a moment later.  Her movements grew more demanding, more assertive: the drag of her claws here, the fall of her lips there . . . and even as she tried to tell him, he held her back, kissed her slowly, taking his time as he let himself explore her in a slow and lethargic kind of way.  As though everything he'd known about her had somehow been thrown away, there was an absolute need to rediscover her, to understand who she was on her terms but in his time.  The whispers and subtleties that spoke to him, that guided him, wanted so much more than the physical act—wanted—needed—to touch her on a level that she could understand . . .

With every tender touch, every fluttering breath, he reveled in the reactions of her body.  The stuttering gasp as he kissed her collarbone, the rise of gooseflesh under his fingertips as he slowly dragged his hand along her shoulder, down her arm . . . the tightening grip of her hands in his hair when she arched her back, uttered a keening moan as he kissed her nipple before opening his mouth, swirling his tongue over her skin, biting down just a little on the hardened bud . . .

The explosion of her scent very nearly was his undoing.  As though all of her passion had ignited at once, the effects were devastating as he squeezed his eyes closed, willed himself to calm.  She squeezed his shoulders, her knees falling open in blatant invitation, the incredible heat of her, scorching against his lower stomach . . .

Her need was a palpable thing, drifting to him in stuttering heartbeats, in ragged sighs, in a few broken words that were uttered and lost—inane things—precious things—living things that sang in his head, in his heart.  Stilling her with a terse growl when she thrashed under him, her body seeking the fulfillment that he wasn't quite ready to give, she uttered a plaintive little whimper, a sharp little gasp, as he sank a finger into her, kissing his way down her stomach, reveling in the constriction of muscles under her skin, in the jerks and tremors as her body rocked against his hand.

His own body protested, the aches and the throbbing pains manifesting themselves in twitches and a heaviness that made him wince, and still, the need to love her, to make her understand just how much she needed him, how much he needed her, was enough to temper the impatience, to steady the feeling that he was coming apart at the seams.  She was his air and his light and his darkness, and the taste of her was like honey on his lips.  Kissing his way along the hollow vale, breath condensing on the scarlet curls between her legs, she shivered again, this time, a little more violently, her body inundating him with her scent that caught in his nose, in the raw throb of her youki.

She whimpered when he pulled his finger out of her, gasped when he held his thumbs, side by side, ran them up the delicate cleft, only to open her, to stroke her with maddening slow deliberateness . . . Sinking his tongue into her as he touched her, tasted her, as her body lurched and his name tumbled from her lips in a wash of passion, of pleasure, of need and fulfillment . . .

Kissing his way up to that part of her that ached for him, letting his thumbs slide into her, he kissed her gently, softly, slowly, as she cried out again, tugging at his shoulders, trying in vain to tell him what she wanted—needed—as the pleasure subsided just enough to leave behind that ragged burn, the incessant and primordial desire that he felt, too.

Wincing slightly, he started to roll away, needed to retrieve the box of condoms that he'd bought while he was out to get her things.  Jessa groaned when he shifted, pulling one hand away as he moved to push himself up, away from her.

' _Kyouhei . . . don't . . ._ '

Frowning at the strangled sound of his youkai-voice as he gently moved his thumb within her, he shook his head just a little.

' _We . . . We don't really need that, do we?  She's . . . She's our mate, so . . ._ '

Closing his eyes against the absolute draw of her, he grimaced.  ' _But . . . We haven't talked about . . ._ '

' _And you don't want her to leave us, do you?  And she can't if we . . .We need her, Kyouhei.  We need her . . ._ '

"I . . . need you," she murmured, body coiled so tightly, so fraught with her need that she felt like a coil, ready to snap.  "Ashur . . ."

With a groan, he pulled his hand away, rolled over her, very aware of just how right it all felt, how perfect, how powerful.

Kissing her with all the tenderness he could find within himself, he gasped into her mouth as he slid into her.

He hadn't realized just how much the condoms had blunted the sensations—enough so that he had to pull himself back, hold himself taut, as her body stretched and tightened around him by turns.  He could feel every last nuance in a way that he never had before, but she could, too, and she rasped out a broken kind of sound, something caught midway between a gasp and a moan . . .

" _Amaterasu_ . . . stop . . ." he ground out, eyes squeezed closed as his forehead fell against hers.  She whimpered, her body bearing down against his, shaking, undulating, creating a rhythm that was driving him way too close, way too soon.  "You . . . You need to . . . stop . . ."

"Wh . . . What . . .?"

He sighed, struggled to draw a deep breath meant to steady himself.  "Just . . . for a second . . ."

Whether she understood what he was trying to say or if she was just doing as he'd asked, he didn't know, but she managed to remain perfectly still despite the tremors he could feel that were ravaging her body.

It didn't really matter.  He moved in her as the damn of his control broke wide.  There was no fighting it, no slowing it, no taming it.  The combining of his youki and hers was too much, too impossible to curb.  The rise and fall of his body with hers, the surge of fire, of passion, of lust borne of a deeper emotion breathed and surged around them, through them, with the power of a wildfire, with the rush of trembling earth . . .

She called out his name as she was caught up once more in the release of pleasure.  Lifting her hips, drawing him in deep—so deep—she convulsed around him, her ragged heartbeat thundering through her and into him in wave upon wave of tactile feel that he couldn't ignore.  The intensity of the cresting need broke wide, shattering time and thought, until all that was left was her, alone in the darkness, beckoning him back . . .

Beckoning him home . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** xSerenityx020 ——— Sora ——— Adjectivenoun
> 
> ==========
> 
> **_AO3_ **
> 
> Amanda+Gauger ——— minthegreen ——— patalaxe
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— cutechick18 ——— lovethedogs ——— lianned88 ——— monsterkittie
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _My mate_ …


	63. Ribbing

The most beautiful feeling awoke Jessa.  So nice, in fact, that it took her a minute to figure it out before she tossed aside those last, lingering remnants of peaceful sleep and opened her eyes.  Maybe it was just the simple fact that it felt like the first time in a long time that she'd actually slept peacefully.

In fact, the last time she could remember sleeping so peacefully was the last time she'd slept with . . .

"Ashur?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes with balled-up fists as she struggled against a jaw-splitting yawn.

The warmth of lips on her forehead as she turned and huddled a little closer to the inviting warmth of his body.  He chuckled softly.  "Morning, _Amaterasu_ . . . Did you sleep all right?"

"Mmm," she muttered, still refusing to open her eyes.  "Shu'up . . . tryin' t' go back t' sleep . . ."

He sighed, but the sound was ruined when he chuckled again.  "As much as I'd love to accommodate you, if I stay in bed longer, I'm going to be late."

"Late?  Whaffor?" she said, her voice muffled by his chest.

This time, he snorted.  "A hopelessly boring meeting with the generals," he admitted.  "Why don't you come along?  Gin will be there, too . . . She mentioned something about a brunch?"

"No, thanks," she replied, tightening her grip on him, unwilling to let him get up, either.  "Tell them you're sick.  Have to stay in bed all day.  Sorry . . ."

He chuckled again, wrapping his arms around her a little tighter, giving her an affectionate squeeze.  "I wish.  Unfortunately, we probably ought to get back to Quebec within the week, and this has to be done since everyone's here, anyway."  He sighed.  "You know, don't you?  You utterly wrecked Kells."

That got her attention quickly enough, and she struggled to lean up on her elbows.  "But I left him my flames . . ."

He stared at her for a long moment before slowly shaking his head.  "Yeah, you did.  Then I took them away from him, so he's pissed as hell at me."

"Why would you take them?"

He rolled his eyes.  "He was trying to break it—trying to summon you back," he explained.  "Jessa—"

"I told him not to unless he really needed me . . . I said—"

"And what do you think is an emergency to a three year old?  You know, don't you?  You're the closest thing to a . . ." Trailing off with a scowl, he shook his head.  "He loves you. You were gone.  He didn't know when you were coming back.  He thought you'd left forever, even though I told him . . ." Suddenly narrowing his gaze, he scowled at her.  "But you weren't going to come back, right?  You weren't planning on it from the time you walked out the door . . ."

Heaving a sigh as her bubble of contentment burst like an overblown balloon, Jessa sat up, rubbed her face, refusing to look at Ashur again.  "No, I  . . . I wasn't . . ."

"Why?  Because of the whole . . . gift thing . . .?  Jessa—"

"No!  Well, a little, but . . ."

Letting out a deep breath, he sat up, too, slipped an arm around her to draw her against him once more.  She resisted for all of a minute before slowly relaxing against him.  "Because of what you overheard, right?  You know, don't you?  I didn't mean any of that.  I honestly didn't, and I . . . It killed me, to say those things—to lie like that, but I . . . I was afraid that they'd hurt you to get to me . . ."

He was speaking, she could hear him, but something else—something that felt just a little . . . different . . . was blocking out the sound of his voice.  Something . . . but . . . what was it . . .?

' _Come now, Jessa.  Surely you're not that thick . . ._ '

Scowling at the sound of her youkai-voice, she shook her head.  ' _What . . . do you mean . . .?_ '

' _Do you think the condom broke or did he simply just . . . not use one?_ '

It took a minute for that bit of nonsense to dawn on Jessa.  It took her another moment for her to wrap her brain around just what that might mean.  Slowly, cautiously, she sniffed, her eyes flaring wide as the change in her scent—the change in his—registered.  ' _But . . . We didn't . . . We never . . . He's not . . . No-o-o-o-o-o-o . . ._ '

' _It's a little too late for that, lassie.  What's done is done and cannot be undone, as your ma would put it, but you know—_ '

' _It . . . It can't be!  Oh, God . . . Oh, my God!  He . . . He doesn't realize, but when he does . . ._ '

' _Stop that, now!  You don't know that he doesn't know, and you don't know that if he doesn't, that he'll flip out when he does.  You know, things like this aren't accidental.  Maybe if you stopped feeling sorry for yourself and stopped trying to find reasons why he would never want you—_ '

' _Of course he doesna want me!  Why would he when he's in love with Hana?  You heard what she said!  He's her only one!  What do you think that means?_ '

' _To me, that means that she'd be with him if it were true, you stupid, silly little girl!  If you're so worried about that, then open your mouth and ask him because—_ '

' _Oh, what do you know?  Just shut up!  Shut up so I can think, damn it!_ '

' _So, you want me to shut up, do you?  All right, fine, then I won't tell you what I know . . . After all, I'm just your youkai-voice!  What in the hell would_ I _know?_ '

Wincing as her youkai finally, blessedly fell silent, Jessa leaned forward, gripping her temples between her fingertips and rubbing furiously.  He was going to be livid when he found out, wasn't he?  And he ought to be, shouldn't he?  He'd never wanted to take her as his mate, and . . .  She groaned.

"Jessa?  Are you all right?"

"Uh, oh . . . Umm . . . I'm fine," she lied, hoping that he couldn't see her face.

He sighed.  "Why do I feel like you haven't heard a thing I just said?"

"Ashur?  Have you . . . noticed . . . a-a-any . . . thing?"

"Aside from the fact that you're ignoring me?" he asked dryly.

She flinched.  "Last . . . night . . . did the, uh . . ." Trailing off as she squeezed her eyes closed, as she gathered what was left of her scattered courage, she blurted, "— _didthecondombreak?_ "

He blinked and shot her a raised-eyebrow-ed look.  "Huh?"

She bit her lip, dragged her hair over her shoulder, twisted it around and around and around at lightning speed till he reached over and pulled it away from her.  "It . . . broke . . ." she squeaked out, her throat suddenly bone-dry.  "I'm . . . I'm so sorry . . ."

"Sorry?" he echoed, pinning her with a look that was more disbelief, but she saw the irritation there, too, and she grimaced.  "You're. . . sorry . . ."

"I-I-I know this isn't what you want, and-and maybe there's a way to un-do it, or . . . or maybe it won't matter since we're not really, um, you know—"

He snorted indelicately as she shot out of the bed and toward the bathroom.  "No . . . Of course not," he growled, yanking the door open.  "Because being my mate would be a fate worse than death, wouldn't it?"

She flinched again when the bathroom door slammed closed, drawing up her knees to hide her face as she let her forehead fall against them.  Being his mate wasn't the problem, and deep down, in a part of her that she hated, she'd have to admit that that small part of her was thrilled—entirely thrilled . . . But he . . .

He didn't want it; didn't want to be stuck with _her_ . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gin Zelig opened the door to the very large and very impressive townhouse, only to step back, her eyes widening as a very blatant look of absolute shock surfaced on her pretty face.  Seconds later came the high-pitched squeal that made Ashur flinch as the tiny woman fairly flew at Jessa, who managed to stoop down just enough to hug the tai-youkai's mate while she pinned him with the most fulminating glower she possibly could.

He stifled a sigh as Gin babbled her congratulations and pulled them both inside.  "Oh, my goodness!  I had no idea that the two of you would—" cutting herself off, she cleared her throat and giggled again.  "Well, never mind me!  That's so wonderful!  Come on, Jessa!  The rest of the ladies are here, and I'm sure they'd all love to meet you!"

"The rest of the . . . ladies?" she echoed with a frown.

"You hear that?  It's _wonderful_ ," Ashur murmured, grasping Jessa's arm to keep her from following Gin right away.

She jerked away from him and narrowed her eyes before turning on her heel and stomping off toward the back of the townhouse where Gin had disappeared.

"Oh, hey, Ash!  We—" Cutting himself off abruptly as he stopped dead in his tracks and leveled a completely blank look at him, Bas Zelig stared, eyebrows slowly drawing together, mouth shifting to the side in an exaggerated show of complete befuddlement.

Ashur sighed and rolled his hand to hurry the commentary along.

"W—I mean, I—Isn't she your—I didn't know—C-Congratulations."

Ashur snorted.  "She was Kells' nanny—she isn't anymore.  We weren't really broadcasting it, and thank you.  Can we move on now?"

Bas chuckled but still seemed a little perplexed.  "Oh, uh, yeah.  We're in here.  We were waiting for you but, uh, well, it . . . It kind of makes sense, why you're late.  I'm actually kind of surprised that you showed up at all, all things considered . . ."

Uttering a terse grunt and steeling himself for the next round of Twenty Questions, Ashur followed Bas into the large and warm living room, and he wasn't entirely surprised when all the talking ground to an instant halt as Cain's expression mirrored his son's as the tai-youkai leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat rather dubiously.

The first one to speak, unfortunately, was Steve Vasquez, who chuckled.  "Don't look at me.  I gave him a condom.  Not my fault Ben apparently never taught him how to use it."

"What's that?" Ben demanded, and Ashur stifled a groan.  No, Ben hadn't made it back to the States, but what did that matter when he could be connected via video feed on the large screen television off to the left?

Cain cleared his throat again. "Morning, Ash.  You're . . . smelling very . . . 'Jessa' today . . ."

How he'd managed to say that with a completely straight face was rather beyond Ashur, he'd give him that.  Too bad it wasn't nearly as amusing to Ashur, though.  "That usually happens when one takes a mate," he grumbled.

"Wait, what?" Ben intoned, leaning forward in his chair.  "No, seriously, what?"

Martin Sanstrom laughed.  "Well, if you've got to be mated to someone for life, she's not a bad way to go . . . So . . . just . . . one . . . question . . ."

Ashur shot him a rather bored look.  "One."

Martin nodded.  "You, uh . . . You _did_ know her _before_ the gala . . . right?"

Ashur sighed and didn't bother to answer that as he dropped into a chair and slowly shook his head.

"All right, so if I'm understanding you all, you, Ashur . . . You and Jessa . . .?" Ben interjected.

"Yes, Ben, that's right.  Jessa and I are mated as of yesterday since everyone here apparently has to know all the fine details.  It's fine, it's great, it's _wonderful_. . . Just ask Gin.  She said so."

Ben blinked and slowly nodded.  "Well . . . Um . . . It's just a little . . . abrupt . . ."

"All right, all right, Ashur's got a point.  It's not really our business," Cain stated.  "Moving on . . ."

"Sorry to keep you all waiting," Gunnar Inutaisho said as he strode into the room.  It really was too much to hope that he wouldn’t notice, Ashur figured.  He was right.  The future Japanese tai-youkai stopped, his head pivoting to look at Ashur, who sighed.  "Wow," he said, slowly shaking his head.  "I've seen some interesting reactions from men who wanted to keep me away from their women, but to mate her just to do it?  That's a new one."

"My God, you're so narcissistic," Bas grumbled.

"How is a true statement me, being narcissistic?" Gunnar shot back.

"Well, when's the wedding?" Ben interrupted before Bas and Gunnar could get going in one of their legendary verbal battles.

"Whose?"

Ben rolled his eyes.  "Yours, Ash.  Charity loves weddings . . ."

"I hadn't thought about that," Ashur admitted, hoping that his brother was going to drop it.

"What do you mean, you haven't thought about it?  She's your mate.  You'd better, as they say, put a ring on it."

"One thing at a time, Ben," Ashur grumbled.  "I mean, she's still a little . . . She hasn't quite . . ."

"What do you mean?" Steve cut in.  "It's not like you just made her your mate without talking about it, right?  I mean, you just don't take a mate, and . . . Oh . . . Oh, you did . . ."

"Ash?  You . . . You told her what you wanted, didn't you?" Ben asked, his tone registering his utter disbelief.

"Not . . . exactly . . ." he admitted.

"Well, what exactly did you say to her?  I mean, Ash, you can't just take a mate and not tell her that you're doing it.  How did you even explain it?"

"Considering she jumped to her own conclusions?  I didn't . . . yet . . ."

Covering his mouth with his hand, Ben scowled at the camera.  "I . . . I . . ." Letting out a deep breath, Ben seemed at a total loss as he shook his head instead.

Ashur sighed.  "If you all must know, yes, she's my mate, and she was going to _be_ my mate regardless, even if she thinks it's a fate worse than death, but we'll get past that.  It's a far sight better than her original plan of running off back to Ireland to marry Duke Paddington Bear's son—who, incidentally, has no interest in marrying her, in the first place—so, as it is, MacDouchebag can deal with it and release her estate since she now officially has a mate, and he can give up on the idea that she'll ever, ever marry any of his little cronies, and—"

"Mac . . . Douchebag . . .?" Cain repeated, lips twitching as he fought back the urge to laugh.

Ben cleared his throat.  "Did you really just call the European tai-youkai—"

"Yes, I did," Ashur interrupted.  "Can we move on now?"

"This just keeps getting better and better," Bas muttered to Gunnar, who was sitting next to him.

Gunnar nodded.  "I'm a little jealous that I didn't think of that one myself . . ."

Cain grunted.  "Just . . . one last question, and then I swear we'll move on."

Ashur heaved a sigh, slouching in his chair, resting his forehead on his propped fingers and rolling his other hand to indicate that Cain should continue.

"It's just . . . Have you actually met the son?  Duke, uh . . . Paddington Bear's . . . son?"

Ashur shifted his gaze to the side to meet Cain's, though he didn't move his head.  "You've met him, too."

"I have?"

"He's Jessa's friend, Devlin.  He left home when his father told him that he was arranging his marriage.  Apparently, he's not too keen on the idea, and even less so now, knowing that Jessa's the girl he was to marry.  He says she's like his sister, and . . ." Suddenly, Ashur chuckled.  "Well, he seems to have a certain fascination for Manami, actually . . ."

"Manami?  Is that right?"

Ashur shrugged.  "Not like anything will ever come of it," he said.  "Considering Dev can't even form a coherent sentence around her?  Jessa told me that his pick up line was something about liking birds . . ."

"Oh, no . . . No-o-o-o-o," Ben grimaced.

Ashur nodded slowly.  "Poor bastard . . ."

"Maybe, but maybe Manami might like being mated to _him_ ," Gunnar pointed out.

Ashur sighed at the entirely unwelcome and also entirely accurate barb.

Cain waved a hand.  "All right, all right, as fascinating as all of this is, I think we'd all like to get back to the real reason for this meeting?"

"I feel like I'm back in school again," Marshall Billings muttered.

Cain rolled his eyes and slowly shook his head.

Ashur could only heave a sigh of relief since the worst of it was over . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Ladies, I'd like to formally introduce you to Cain's newest general's mate, Jessa!  She's a real lady, you know!  As in, Lady Jessa O'Shea—oh, but I guess that'll be Lady Jessa Philips soon enough, right?" Gin giggled as she gave Jessa's arm a little squeeze.

"Oh!  Congratulations!" Jan Sanstrom exclaimed with a bright and friendly smile.  "I have to admit, though, my daughter, Paige is going to be pretty sad when I tell her."

"I wasn't aware that Ashur was seeing anyone," Denise Billings remarked with a thoughtful frown.  "Why weren't you seated with him, dear?"

"Oh, that was my fault," Gin explained, gently pushing Jessa toward the table where the other women were already seated.  "I told Chelsea, but she was so busy, she forgot to give the waiters the amended chart . . ."

"Even so, I could have sworn they said you were just the nanny," Denise went on, tucking a long strand of black hair behind her ear.

Jess didn't know how to respond to that.  Truthfully, she wasn't entirely sure how to respond to anyone.  Sydnie, however, smiled at her and jerked her head toward the open seat beside her, and, seeing no way around it, Jessa sat down.

She hadn't actually spoken more than a sentence or two to the cat-youkai, mostly because of the rather intimidating looks the woman cast her when she'd danced once with her mate at the gala . . .

"I'm going to go finish up the quiche, and I'll be right back!" Gin said as she hurried off toward the kitchen.

"So, how long have you and Ashur been dating?" Jan asked, standing up to fill glasses with orange juice and champagne.

Jessa frowned since she didn't have an answer to that, either, given that they really had only gone on a couple dates—and even so, that was stretching it, just a little.  "N-Not very long," she replied.

"Oh, love at first sight!"  She sighed happily, her eyes taking on that sense of seeing something that no one else could for a moment before she snapped herself out of it and laughed.  "That's how it was for Martin and me . . . What about you, Denise?"

Denise laughed and took a glass.  "Actually, I hated Marshall.  I despised him for a very long time.  Of course, our mothers were friends, so we knew each other . . . forever.  It wasn't until he clobbered my boyfriend at the time for being a jerk that I . . . decided he was all right, after all . . ."

Sydnie laughed and reached for two glasses, but Jessa held up a hand to decline.  "Oh, sorry . . . Gin doesn't really drink, either," she said, setting one of the glasses back.

"Uh . . . Well, I'm not legally able to here," Jessa admitted.

"Oh?  What are you?  Twenty?" Jan asked.

"Eighteen . . ." Jessa said.

"Oh . . . You're still just a baby!" Denise exclaimed.  Her laugh was friendly, but even so, Jessa bit her lip.

"Old enough, obviously," Sydnie quipped, sparing a moment to wink at Jessa.  "Anyway, I remember thinking that my puppy was very hot the first time I saw him," she went on, and it struck Jessa that she was trying to steer the conversation away from her.  "All tall and golden . . . and huge . . ."

"You look like the cat that ate the canary," Denise remarked with a wink.

"What can I say?  I adore my puppy . . ."

"Sebastian is a very nice looking young man—granted, he's young enough to be my son," Jan allowed.  "I still remember when he was born . . ."

Denise shook her head as she stared at Jessa.  "I'm sorry, I'm really not trying to be rude, Jessa, but . . . Did you curl your hair or is all of that natural?"

She blinked and glanced down at the riot of curls that had fallen over her shoulder.  "It's natural," she said, unable to staunch the hint of defensiveness that crept into her tone.

Denise's eyes widened.  "Well, it's beautiful!  I was hoping that maybe you had some sort of secret . . . I've tried everything to get my hair to curl, but it never stays for more than a few hours . . ."

"Oh, it, um . . . My nannies always complained about it," she said.  "It tangled so dreadfully easily . . ."

"Nannies?  What about your mother, dear?" Jan asked.

"I spent evenings with my parents, but most of the day, I was with my nanny or governess . . ."

Did they have to look so very appalled?  Something about it brought out the sense of awkwardness that Jessa couldn't control . . .

"That's entirely unnatural!" Jan exclaimed.  A moment later, however, she had the grace to blush. "I'm . . . I apologize.  That was rude of me . . ."

"I think you turned out fine," Sydnie said, giving Jessa's hand a little squeeze.  Jessa smiled, and slowly, for the first time since she'd realized that she was somehow mated to Ashur, she started to relax . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** xSerenityx020 ——— subtlesarcasm
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Okmeamithinknow ——— patalaxe ——— minthegreen ——— Amanda Gauger
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— lianned88 ——— monsterkittie ——— Crow
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _That wasn't ... terrible_ …


	64. Disasters

Staring out the windows of the French doors that led to the terrace and the open yard behind the house, Ashur frowned as he watched Jessa disappear down the path with Carol.

Two days since they'd become mates, and, in those two days, he couldn't say there was much, if any, real progress.  She was stuck on the idea that it was all an accident, and even when he'd tried to tell her that it wasn't, she hadn't listened.  She also seemed to believe that he'd only settled for her, which was entirely asinine, but the more he tried to get her to listen, the more closed off she became, to the point that she'd insisted upon sleeping in her old room in the maid's quarters, which was more than enough to set his temper off into realms unknown, and he'd ended up drinking himself stupid both nights since then, too . . . If he could get her to listen, maybe to talk to him, maybe . . . But no, stubborn to a fault, she was, like she really had no interest in trying to improve the situation at all.

He had no idea why.

Just now, however, he was waiting for Manami to return from picking Kells up at preschool.  They'd only gotten back an hour ago, and he'd thought maybe it was better for Manami to pick Kells up since she'd admitted that the boy was still very upset with his father, and didn't that just figure?

At least he'd be happy about the turn of events, if he actually understood what was going on, that was.

' _Well, you didn't really expect that she'd be pleased that you took it upon yourself to make things official without talking to her first, did you?_ '

Snorting loudly at his youkai-voice's words, Ashur rolled his eyes. ' _What I . . .?  You're the one who suggested it!  It wasn't my idea!_ '

' _Yeah, but you're the one who listened, so it was your fault._ '

' _Of all the stupid, ridiculous—How the hell do you figure that?_ '

' _It's not like you usually listen to me, ever.  How the hell was I supposed to know you were about to start?_ '

Erupting in a low growl, Ashur refused to reply to that bit of nonsense.

He was sinking here, no doubt about it.  Just how in the world was he supposed to get her to listen?  To talk to him?  Just how was he supposed to figure out what was on her mind when he seemed to be the very last person she would willingly discuss much of anything with . . .?

Ashur shook his head.  After the meeting with the generals, Cain had pulled him aside, asked him not to contact MacDonnough just yet.  It seemed that the old bastard had gotten it into his head that he'd won the battle and the war, even though Jessa had yet to travel to Ireland.  He didn't seem to realize this, however, given that she wasn't really required to check in with him.

Cain was of the opinion that Ashur should wait to talk to MacDonnough until after he'd finally gotten things straightened out with Jessa, because if MacDonnough sensed the rift between them, he could well try to claim that they were coercing Jessa into complying with their ultimate plan, thus refusing to grant her estate to Ashur, which could, potentially, cause even more trouble.  If he protested Ashur's right to claim her estate, her father's vacated title, he could well reassign it to anyone of his choosing, regardless of whether Jessa held a legitimate claim or not . . .

"Daddy!"

Turning around at the sound of that voice, Ashur broke into a slight smile as he caught Kells and scooped him up, the click of the front door closing echoing in the distance.  "Did you miss me?"

Kells shook his head as he bounced happily.  "Nami said Jessa's here!  Is Jessa here, Daddy?"

"I should have known," Ashur muttered.  "Yes, she's here, but we need to talk before you go looking for her."

It was obvious that Kells wasn't really in the mood to listen, and he shook his head, wondering briefly just why no one in his life was willing to do anything the easy way . . .

"Listen, Kells . . . Jessa and I—"

Kells frowned.  "Why you smell like Jessa, Daddy?  Well, not _all_ like Jessa, but _some_ like her . . .?"

He sighed.  "That's what I'm trying to tell you.  Jessa and I are mates.  Do you understand that?"

He thought it over, his tiny face scrunching up into a thoughtful frown.  "Like Uncle Ben and Aunt Chaiwwy?"

"Yes, like that," he allowed.

Kells considered that for a long minute, too, but slowly, slowly, his eyes flared wide.  "Then Jessa's my mommy?" he asked, only this time, there was a hint of reluctance in his voice, almost as though he were a little afraid that Ashur was going to say that she wasn't.

"Uh, yes," Ashur replied.  Kells gasped, his eyes sparkling, bright, but before he could redirect into a happy, hyper ball of energy, Ashur stopped him with a finger to his lips.  "I want you to listen to me, okay?"

Kells nodded quickly, and only then did Ashur remove his finger.  "Jessa's my mommy!"

Ashur sighed.  "Kells, you promised you'd listen."  The boy gasped and nodded emphatically.  Ashur wasn't entirely sure that he trusted him, but he also didn't figure that he was going to get him to calm down until after he saw Jessa, and he couldn't do that until he got Kells to understand.  "You can't call her, 'mommy'.  Not yet, anyway."

"Why not, Daddy?  Why not?"

Steeling himself against the rising agitation in the child's youki, Ashur frowned.  "Because right now, Jessa's a little . . . freaked out by everything, and if you call her that, you could freak her out more, and we don't want that, so . . . So, just hold off for a little while, okay?  Just until she's gotten used to the idea that we . . . That we're a family now, all right?"

Kells seemed a little crestfallen as he slowly nodded, bottom lip jutting out in a pronounced pout.  "Oka-a-ay," he finally agreed.  "But I can call her mommy sometime?"

Ashur smiled just a little.  "I'll tell you when you can.  Fair?"

Kells nodded, again.  "Can I go find her now?"

Setting Kells on his feet, he chuckled.  "She went down that path with Carol," he told the boy.  "Just remember your promise, okay?"

"Okay!" Kells hollered, tearing outside when Ashur opened the door.

"So . . . Now that we're alone, tell me that I was imagining all that tension between the two of you?"

Heaving a sigh, Ashur slowly turned to face Manami as the latter slowly ambled toward him, arms crossed over her chest, looking entirely sweet and fresh in a pretty white sundress.  "That bad?"

She shrugged.  "Bad is a relative term."

"She . . . She was going to go back to Ireland—Told MacDonnough that she would agree to mate Kingston's son, which is laughable since Kingson's son has no intention of marrying her, ever."

"You found him?"

Heaving another sigh as he strode over to the wetbar, Ashur nodded.  "Kind of."

"Kind of?"

"He's Devlin."

"Devlin?"

Sloshing cognac into two snifters, Ashur nodded slowly.  "Yep . . . It's a long story.  Suffice it to say that he's not interested in marrying a girl that he looks at as if she were his sister."

"I had no idea . . . I mean, I never saw him before, which is odd since his father's the duke . . ."

Ashur shook his head.  "Not really that odd; not if you knew the whole story."

She took the glass he offered her and settled onto the sofa.  "His father . . . He's a strange one . . . There's just something about him that's . . ." Trailing off as she tried to decide what word she wanted, she frowned, sucking in a cheek as she pondered it.  "I guess you could say that he's, for lack of a better term, creepy."

"Creepy?  How so?"

"He's just . . . He's very assertive in a really strange kind of way, and he has this habit of . . . Of almost looking _through_ you, like he's searching you, assessing you, I guess . . . He told me once that he was a collector, but the way he said it . . ." Suddenly, she rubbed her arms, as though she'd felt a sudden chill.  "I did wonder, though, just why he was so anxious to have his son mate Jessa.  I mean, there were a few others with daughters who would have suited if he were simply after money, but he has more than enough of that, and it's not like he would be after the title of marquess, either—He's a duke, for God's sake.  It was almost as if . . . as if there was something about Jessa herself that he wanted . . ."

"But she's just a simple fire-youkai.  I mean, there are a number of them—better trained in their abilities, too, I'm sure."

Manami nodded, smiled.  "I don't know.  It was just odd feelings.  I'm sure it's nothing, and even so, he cannot demand his son mate her now . . . But tell me why the tension?"

"I . . . I didn't ask her if it was what she wanted," he admitted.  "I just . . . I thought . . . I mean . . . Damn it, how does she not know? I know, and if I know, then that means her youkai knows, so why doesn't she?"

Manami frowned.  "I met her parents once at a soiree in London . . . Her father was the nicest man you could ever meet—jovial, good-natured—bragged on his daughter every chance he got, but her mother . . . She was much more reserved, a little stuffy, like she was afraid of stepping a toe out of line . . . She seemed very sweet, but . . . But I remember that the ladies were talking of their children, and Lady Orlaith . . . she barely said anything about Jessa, but what she did say . . . "

"Go on," Ashur prompted when Manami trailed off.

Manami sighed, biting her lip, and she looked like she was trying to make up her mind, whether or not to give voice to the memory.  Finally, she shrugged, as though maybe it didn't matter.  "She said that her daughter . . . would be lucky to find a good match, that her mate spoiled her and pampered her to distraction, and she was very interested in something that one of the other ladies had said—something about a treatment they had heard of that could permanently straighten youkai hair . . ."

He snorted, gaze darkening.

"Good thing it was just a rumor," Manami went on with a laugh.  "That girl's hair . . . It's amazing . . ."

"Did she say anything else?'

Manami blinked.  "Who?"

Gritting his teeth, Ashur drained the snifter and set it aside.  "Her mother."

"Not especially . . . The only other thing that I really noticed was how almost jealous she seemed of the other ladies' daughters—most of them blonde or the like, and all of them looking like little more than Barbie dolls, they were so . . . so similar . . . Not one of them really stood out from the others, but maybe that's something that she'd wished for . . ."

"I don't suppose you attended the ball her parents threw?"

"Hmm, no . . . I did receive an invitation, but I was out on a hunt at the time, unfortunately."

He sighed.  He figured that it would have been just too much of a coincidence for her to have been privy to more interactions between Jessa and her mother . . .

Manami sighed, setting her glass on the coffee table.  "Unfortunately, I have to be going.  Will you tell Kells that I'll miss him?'

He nodded, pushing himself to his feet to see Manami out.  She started to retrieve her bag in the foyer, but he was quicker, and she laughed as she led the way outside to her car.  "You know, Ashur, it seems to me that the two of you really need to talk.  No distractions, no interruptions, no egos . . ."

"I know.  You're right.  It's just . . . she . . . She keeps things locked up so tightly, and she doesn't . . ."

She nodded.  "And you?"

"What about me?"

Manami rolled her eyes as she opened the car door and leaned on it.  "Communication is a two-way street, and I wonder . . . Have you tried to give her anything?  Anything she can hold onto?"

"She hates it when I give her gifts," he grumbled.

"Ba-a-a-aka . . . Not things, Ash—anything of _you_.   You're just like her in that regard.  You cling so tightly to your secrets, your past . . . Have you told her anything at all?  About your . . . your parents?  About . . . About Kells . . .?"

"Of course, I have."

She nodded again.  "How much?  Because I know it's painful, but . . . but sometimes, those painful things are the things that you have to entrust to someone else so that they feel they can entrust things to you, too . . ."  When he didn't answer, she smiled, leaned forward to kiss his cheek.  "Just think about it.  Maybe if you open yourself up to your _mate_ , maybe she'll feel safer in doing the same with you."

Ashur slipped her bag into the rear seat of her car and stepped back as Manami got in.  "Think about it, Ashur!  You two deserve to be happy!"

With a jaunty wave, she took off, and he sighed.

Was it really as simple as all that?  Just telling her about his past, about . . . about everything?

It sounded entirely too easy, and yet, he knew, didn't he?  Telling her all of those things . . . There wasn't anything 'easy' about it, and it wasn't about whether or not he wanted to tell Jessa.  Of course, he didn't.  Who in their right minds would?  That aside, he also knew, understood, that she deserved to know, needed to know.  He just had to figure out how to tell her, how to say it in such a way that she could understand, which really was the biggest joke of them all, considering he didn't understand it, in the first place . . .

Stepping back into the silent house, Ashur sighed and closed the door.

It was all well and good, the idea of telling Jessa these things.  The real problem was in the doing.  He'd told her parts of it, but even when he'd done that, he really had only glossed over it, and it wasn't that he didn't trust her with the information, no . . . It was just too damn hard to really let go of it, to give it voice and to put it out there.

' _And maybe that's why she's having such a hard time, doing the same.  Just because she had a better upbringing than you did doesn't mean that it was easy or simple for her, either.  You've heard what Manami said, and you know that she doesn't ever say anything just for effect.  Between those things and what Myrna's told you?  You know, maybe her childhood wasn't as picturesque as she might want you to think it was . . ._ '

' _This really isn't some kind of weird competition . . . It's not about whose childhood was worse or anything._ '

' _Maybe, but think of it this way: you're so much older than she is, right?  Which means, you've had a lot more life experience that enabled you to put some perspective on things—perspective she doesn't have yet.  In a very real sense, she's still very much a child, and before you get all defensive, I'm not saying that it was wrong to take her as your mate because in a lot of ways, it's for the best.  You can help her, you know.  You can mold her views, the way she sees herself.  It may take some effort, but she's still young enough that you can hopefully undo whatever damage she's already suffered.  She's not old enough for all of that to jade her yet, and you don't want her to go there, anyway.  If giving up a little bit of yourself is what it takes to help her heal, to help her to see just what you see when you look at her, then it's worth it, isn't it?  It's the same thing that you've done with Kells.  The only difference is that he never had to experience those terrible things in order to know the good . . ._ '

Pondering his youkai-voice's uncharacteristically long speech, Ashur nodded to himself.

A knock on the door snapped him out of his reverie, though, and he frowned at the unknown youki that he felt a he reached for the handle.

"Hello," the woman said when he opened the door.  The fire-youkai stood there, staring at him with a no-nonsense expression on her face.  Very pretty auburn hair pulled back into a severe knot at the base of her neck, eyes as blue as the summer sky so high above that somehow felt as though they were looking right through Ashur as he gazed back at her, she was older, certainly, easily older than Ben—maybe older than Sesshoumaru . . .  "I smell her on you.  She's chosen you as her mate, then?"

"Who?"

The woman shot him a look—a rather condescending look, at that—as though she thought that he was being obtuse on purpose, and she sighed.  "My Jessa," she said plainly.

"Your Jessa?" he echoed, unsure who the woman was or what she was doing there, in the first place.  Her brogue was thick—thicker than Jessa's was normally—but she spoke very properly.

The woman rolled her eyes and made a motion with her hands, as though she were shooing away a child.  "Stand aside, whoever you are.  I need a cup of tea . . ."

"Who . . . are you?" he demanded as she brushed past him and into his home.

She didn't stop as she strode off toward the kitchen.  "Oh, you're funny, now, are you?  I'm Lady O'Shea's housekeeper."  She stopped suddenly and turned on her heel, balled up fist resting on her hip as she gave him a very solid once-over.  "Now, if you'll be so kind to show me to my quarters?"

Ashur frowned and stared at the woman for a long minute before very slowly pivoting on his heel and heading toward the basement.  "This way," he said, wondering just why he was doing as she commanded . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Goldeninugoddess ——— sutlesarcasm
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Carly aka: GoodyKags ——— patalaxe ——— minthegreen ——— monsterkittie ——— Savvyrae ——— Anna
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Crow ——— Nate Grey ——— lianned88 ——— Celebrian
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _Just who is she_ …?


	65. Headway

Rubbing his forehead as he read through the slim-file that he'd downloaded earlier, he grimaced at the images that were attached to the case information.  They weren't pretty.  An entire family, gutted and mutilated—Kent Seabourne, 34, a marine biologist living in Nova Scotia, along with his wife, Krissy Seabourne, 29, a kindergarten teacher turned stay-at-home mom to Karl, aged four, and Kiley, nineteen months . . .

According to the file, Krissy had just returned home around two from the supermarket with the children.  Kent got home around half an hour later, give or take, and he helped Krissy bring in the groceries.  Somewhere in the next half hour or so, three youkai broke into the house and cut them all down, starting with the children, who were playing in the living room.  Krissy was next in an obvious and pathetic attempt to save her children.  Kent was last, but the interesting part of the file, according to police reports, were the very large quantities of salt that Kent had apparently flung around the room.  The reports seemed to dismiss it as incidental damage in the wake of the struggle, but Ashur had to wonder if there weren't something more to it.

' _What?  You think that the guy—Kent—that he somehow thought that he was being attacked by . . . by what?_ '

Frowning at his youkai's words, Ashur rubbed his chin as he considered that.  ' _It's entirely possible that he thought he was being attacked by something . . . unnatural . . . I mean, if he could see through concealments . . ._ '

' _You mean, like what happened to Drevin and his family?_ '

It was possible, he had to allow.  He hadn't actually talked much to Kurt, but Bas had filled him in on the higher points of that situation when he'd told him about the file.

" _There's something strange about the incident," Bas said when Ashur answered the call while he was downloading the information into the Slim-File.  "It almost reminds me of what happened to Sam's husband, Kurt . . . When he was little, a group of youkai attacked his family, killed everyone but Kurt because he hadn't come inside.  They knew that the dad could see them—could see through their concealments.  Kurt grew up, thinking that we were demons—monsters . . . Spend his life, trying to hunt them down.  He can see through the concealments, too, by the way, so if he looks at you weird, that's why—although you don't really appear much different, do you?  Anyway, it's just a thought_ . . ."

" _So, you think that maybe this family could see through the concealments, too?  That they were targeted because of it?_ "

" _I . . . don't know.  It's just a guess.  Maybe not the whole family, but it's possible.  Some of the lesser-youkai have a tendency to fear being outed for what they are.  Dad said he thinks maybe it's because they've always lived in a circle of fear, even before we went into hiding—like it's ingrained in them or something_ . . ."

" _I see . . . So, this whole thing might be something or it might not be anything?_ "

" _Well, I don't know about that.  The human authorities tend to pin the blame for things on something they can try to reasonably argue, even if it isn't the case.  What we do, though . . . If there were youkai involved, we try to figure out who and what and why, and then we eliminate the threat if it still exists._ "

Heaving a little sigh, Ashur frowned as he scrolled through the images, the carnage.  It was horrible, really, just how much destruction had been left behind.  That entire family was wiped out on that afternoon, and somehow, the cops had chalked the whole thing up to some kind of bear attack.  Ashur wasn't sure how they were able to make that fly, but, given that the case occurred in the early 1970s, he figured that might have something to do with it.  It had made its way onto Cain's stack of open cases, and from there, it had ended up in Bas and Gunnar's office.  Since they hadn't quite gotten to it yet and since it was from Ashur's region, they'd sent it up as the first case for the Canadian branch of the youkai special crimes office . . .

The trouble with the file, though, was that there were no witnesses, no real leads, and about the only thing he could see to go on was an address, and even that was a stretch.  The house itself had been entirely renovated and sold off, only to be destroyed in a fire some thirty years later.  It was a total loss and had been knocked down, so it was gone, too.

' _It almost seems like something that you'll never be able to solve, doesn't it?  They sent you a file—your first case—and there's nothing at all to go on . . . It's almost like they want you to fail, don't you think?_ '

He sighed, setting the file aside to rub his forehead instead.

A tap on the open doorway frame drew his attention, and he shifted his gaze, only to find Devlin, slouching casually against the frame.  "I heard you were back . . . and other things . . ."

"Yeah, well, the, 'other thing' you're talking about is in the kitchen with that woman who showed up yesterday," Ashur grumbled, mostly because those, 'other things' were Jessa and most likely, the impromptu mating, and Jessa had spent the whole night, closed away with that woman—the new housekeeper—in the basement, in the small maid's quarters down there.

Devlin nodded slowly.  "You should be nice to her," he ventured, flicking a bit of lint off his sleeve.  "Irish said that she worked for her family from well before she was born—better than a century, I believe she said.  Might know a good thing or two about Irish, I'd wager.  In any case, it can't hurt, can it?  I mean, if she likes the woman, then you might score some points with her if you're nice to her—Irish said her name is Nora, by the by . . ."

Settling back in his chair, Ashur nodded.  "So, you're saying that you think I should formally offer her a job?"

Shoving himself away from the door frame, he ran a finger along the bookshelf and looked at his fingertip with a frown.  "You could use a housekeeper," he allowed, brushing his hands together to knock away whatever dust he'd come up with.  "And just why are you closed up in here, anyway?  I'd think you should be trying to come up with ways to convince Irish that your mating wasn't an accident—you do realize, don't you, that she thinks it was?  Something about a ripped condom, she said."

He snorted indelicately.  "Funny thing when there was no condom, to start with," he grumbled.

"So, you did do it on purpose.  Good for you.  Well, kind of . . ."

"All right," Ashur sighed, rolling his hand to speed things along.  "Let's hear it.  Get it out of your system."

Devlin chuckled, sinking into the chair across from him and nabbing the slim-file in one fluid motion.  Ashur nearly reached for the file, but sat back instead.  "I'm not going to—Oh, hell, I am.  Did you think that was a good idea?  Taking a mate without asking her about it first?  You realize, don't you?  Irish hasn't a clue that you're her mate, though, to be honest, I'm not entirely sure why she doesn't.  Seriously, man, you should know better than to do something like that.  You're old, aren't you?  Probably older than—"

"Say, 'dirt', and I just might kill you."

"—Me . . . Which isn't nearly as great an analogy as the original would have been, but you get the idea here, right?  Now, not only do you have to convince her she is your mate, but you have to convince her that you _wanted_ her to _be_ your mate on the night in questions—or day, whatever.  Not my circus, not my monkeys."

"And you're stating things that I already know," he grumbled.  "If you're not going to be helpful—"

"Hang on . . . What the hell is all of this?"

Glancing over in time to realize that Devlin was actually looking through the file, Ashur sighed.  "They asked me if I'd be interested in working in a new office for the special crimes department," he explained.  "That's the first file . . . and there's not a whole hell of a lot to go on.  Human family, all murdered, obvious youkai involvement, but . . ."

Devlin shook his head, grimacing as he leafed through the photos taken at the crime scene.  "They're not human," he said.  "Well, he isn't, anyway . . . The woman—the children . . . She's human.  Those children are hanyou . . ."

"What?"

Letting out a deep breath, his gaze shifting to the window, Devlin slowly shook his head.  "He . . . He's light-youkai."

 "Wait . . . What?  How do you know?"

Devlin didn't look at him as he closed the file and set it back on the desk.  "You're joking, right?"

"But he doesn't look anything like you."

He did look at Ashur for that, his expression darkening as he narrowed his gaze.  "Because we're all supposed to look the same?  He's a diluted lineage, but he's light."

"How do you know?"

A strange sort of darkness passed over Devlin's face—a kind of darkness that Ashur had never seen in the man before.  "I was taught at home, not that it matters much, but . . . but I was.  I was given the regular curriculum—history, science, math, language.  I was also taught ancient lore at my father's behest.  I did tell you he liked to collect rare things, right?  And what was more rare than my mother?  Than me?  That aside, I learned things—lots of things.  Back in the old days, there was a legend that eating the heart of a light youkai could grant powers to the . . . diner.  Now, most of the lore stated simply, 'creature of light', so you can draw your own conclusions from that, but most of those who were aware of the existence of youkai gleaned that it referred to the light-youkai, which was why my kind were hunted, and, in some cases, captured.  From what I read in my research, the pure lines are the ones that look like Mum—like me—and, as far as I can tell, we're the last of them.  Now, some of the youkai were captured and held in what could only be described as . . . as breeding factories, and this guy . . . He looks like one of the ones that came from that . . . atrocity . . ."  Making a face, he slowly shook his head.  "I thought . . . I thought that those were just rumors—fairy tales . . ."

Ashur considered everything Devlin had said, frowning as he tapped a claw against his chin.  "But . . . But he left his body behind . . ."

"If a light youkai's heart is ripped out while he's still alive, the body remains, too," he said.

"So, you're saying . . ."

Deliberately taking his time as he rubbed his eye, Devlin sighed.  "The lore is wrong," he said, his tone a little more hostile, a little angrier, than Ashur could credit, though maybe he could understand Devlin's unvoiced feelings on the matter.  Just how disgusting, how despicable . . . "The lore . . . It led one to believe that it could be the heart of any light-youkai, but that's not true.  If you dig a little deeper, read a little longer . . . If you learn to comprehend the old texts . . . It's an infant they need.  An infant because their life energy—their youki—is more concentrated, more pure."

"And someone was trying to create them?  To what end?"

Devlin shrugged.  "Who can comprehend the minds of madness?" he countered, slipping back into the much more familiar, almost philosophical tone of voice.  "My logical guess would be that whomever was doing it craved power, though what kind of power they could harness from the light-youkai would be marginal, at best—maybe a slight boost to their already phenomenal ability to heal . . . We're not really that strong—not physically.  There were other legends that spoke of powers far beyond that which should ever exist.  I just thought that they were little more than legend or stories told to children at bedtime . . ." Suddenly, he shook his head.  "Who knows?  Maybe there's more truth to it all than I thought . . ."

"You're afraid they're still looking for you—for your mother."

The look on Devlin's face was far more telling than the simple, almost sarcastic, quirk of his lips.  "Anything's possible, right?  That file proves it . . ."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jessa stood in the archway of the living room, lips pursed together, held to the side, as she stared at Ashur's broad back while he poured himself a glass of cognac.

It was late.  Kells had been tucked in hours ago, and she'd just been shooed out of Nora's room, much to her own irritation.  Not surprising that Kells had taken to Nora pretty much right away, and Jessa?

She'd dissolved in tears the very moment she'd spotted the old housekeeper—a sorely needed familiar face who had smiled just a little as she'd opened her arms, as she'd held Jessa close as she sobbed against her shoulder.  Funny how Jessa hadn't actually thought about the woman in weeks—months . . . Funnier, still, just how welcome, how familiar she was . . .

How often had she run to Nora for comfort, for the loving embrace when she'd fallen and scraped a knee or when her nanny was being too rough with her hair?  How often had Jessa sat on the counter, chattering away at the woman, interrupting her work time and again, and yet Nora had never chastised her, never told her that she was being a bother . . .

Orlaith had told her that many times, anyway, catching Jessa in the kitchen when the nanny would say that she'd managed to give her the slip.  Then she'd been forced to go back where she belonged, always with that look of exasperation on her mother's face . . .

But she supposed that it was natural, in a way.  As she'd gotten older, was sent off to boarding school, she hadn't spent nearly as much time at home, hadn't really been around Nora as much as she had when she was nothing more than a small child.  She was ashamed to admit as much, but the woman had kind of fallen away in her life, nudged aside by other things . . .

Even so, she'd come all the way here, just to find her, and Jessa couldn't be happier about it.  She wasn't sure if it was simply that Ashur realized that Jessa would want Nora near or if he'd just decided that he might as well offer the willful woman a job, but he'd told her during dinner that he'd asked Nora to stay on as their housekeeper—a position that Nora was more than happy to accept.

She supposed on some level that she ought to thank Ashur for his thoughtfulness on the matter.

Too bad she was still quite irritated by his other bit of finagling for the day to be bothered with such trivial things as a gratitude at the moment . . .

"Devlin Broughton isn't yours, Ashur Philips," she stated as she stomped forward and took his glass, only to drain it before handing it back.  "He's mine.  If you want your own bloody redcoat, go find your own.  That one belongs to me."

"He _belongs_ to you, Jessa?"

She nodded and flicked a finger at the now-empty snifter.  "Aye, mine," she informed him with a haughty little 'hrumph'.  "Ye cannae have him.  I found him.  I befriended him.  That makes him mine, ye ken?  Oh, and fill that up, while ye're at it."

Ashur rolled his eyes but refilled the snifter and handed it to her before filling another for himself.  "You can keep him.  He's just going to be working with me in special crimes."

She snorted, waving around the snifter as she turned her back on Ashur and headed for the sofa.  "He can't do that kind of work!  He's too squirrely for all that!  He's probably at home, curled up in a fetal position right now, thinking of all those horrible things . . . poor lamb . . ."

"I'll make sure I tell him you said so," Ashur parried.  "You've just utterly emasculated him, you know."

Jessa rolled her eyes.  "He saw a snake while we were out riding today, and he screamed like a girl," she pointed out.

Ashur blinked.  "That was him?"

She nodded very slowly, eyes wide as she stared over the rim of the snifter at him.  "Still think it's a _good_ idea?"

He chuckled.  "Actually, I do."

She sighed.  "Why do you want to work in something so dreadful?" she asked quietly, scooting over as Ashur sat down beside her.  When she tried to scoot a little farther away, he caught her, held her against his side.  She gave him a little shove, but it didn't do a thing, and she gave up, at least for the moment.

' _I mean, it's not like I want to be sitting here, crunched up against him.   Of course not . . ._ '

Her youkai-voice remained conspicuously silent, and she stifled a sigh.

"It can't be anything worse than the things I've already seen—things I've lived through," he said quietly.

"Like what?" she prompted, downing the rest of the cognac in her glass and setting it on the coffee table.

"I've told you," he said with a simple shrug.  "My childhood was just not what others were, like yours, for example . . . Although yours wasn't nearly as perfect and beautiful as you've led me to believe, was it?"

Jessa frowned as a half-forgotten conversation sprang to mind—one she hadn't really given much thought, not since the night it had happened . . . Charity's voice, telling her . . . telling her part of Ashur's story—part of it that she felt that she could share without interfering . . .

" _A couple years ago, there was an uprising back home, back in Japan . . . We found Kyouhei in the basement, tied up, beaten . . . It was . . . It was horrible . . . Their father, the great and mighty Hidekea_. . ."

"But . . . But they hurt you, didn't they?  Your . . . Your parents . . .?" she asked quietly.  "That's . . . That's what Charity said . . ."

The look he shot her was almost surprised, almost a little . . . guilty?  "I turned against them," he replied.  "What they were doing was wrong—I thought it was wrong, anyway—plotting to overthrow the Inu no Taisho, and yeah, okay, it _was_ wrong, but . . . But then, I ask myself, were they right?  I mean, isn't everyone fundamentally doing what they feel is right, even if you disagree?  Just because something isn't right to you doesn't mean that it is wrong to the other person . . ." He sighed, shook his head, and suddenly, he seemed much older than he normally did . . . "In their minds, they were right, and I was wrong, but in mine, I _know_ that they were wrong.  It's just . . ."

She winced.  "Charity said . . . She said they . . . that they beat you . . ."

"They . . . They did," he allowed in an almost clinical tone of voice, as though he'd rather state the facts than to try to think on it too much, too hard, and she supposed that she could understand that.  Maybe he needed that slight separation in his own head, just to keep from going mad . . .

"Because you released Manami . . ."

He nodded slowly, drained his drink and grabbed her glass to refill them.  His hands were shaking just a little, and Jessa winced.  As much as she might want to know, did she really have a right to ask when he, quite obviously, didn't really want to talk about it, and she knew that, too.

" _Always such a busybody, Jessa!  You need to stop asking so many questions!  If someone wants to tell you something, they will, so take what they give you and be satisfied with that_ . . ."

Blinking away the echo of her mother's voice, Jessa took the glass of wine he offered her instead of another glass of cognac, though he had refilled his with the same thing.  "There was just . . . a lot that happened . . . really fast," he admitted as he sat back down and pulled her against him again.

"If . . . If you don't want to talk about it, I . . . I understand . . ."

He sighed.  "It's not that I don't want to—I mean, I don't, but . . . But it's not you.  I . . . I want to tell you.  You should know.  You have the right to know.  It's just . . ." Trailing off with a grimace, he seemed to be trying to figure out how to say whatever it was he was struggling to put into words.  "That was over three years ago, and . . . and a lot of it still doesn't make sense to me, so trying to explain it . . . That's all.  Just . . . can you be patient with me?  I'll tell you . . . everything . . . Just . . . It may take me awhile."

Jessa shifted, turned her body to look at his face, into his eyes.  Those swirling blue pools were churning as he stared back at her, as though he were trying so hard to reach her, and something about that . . .

Reaching up to cradle his cheek in her hand, she couldn't help herself, couldn't stand that look of confusion on his face.  "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to tell me," she said.

For some reason, her statement seemed to bother him even more, and he sighed.  "My . . . My father chained me up in the basement—a special basement that he'd built of solid iron to make it harder for me to manipulate the earth.  I've been in that basement before, but never quite like that . . . Otou-san called it my training room . . ."

She flinched at the cynical laugh that escaped him.

"He flogged me with one of okaa-san's cat-o-nine-tails.  Whips were her specialty, imbued with her cruelty, in the form of poisons—never fast acting poisons, though.  Her poisons were ones designed to make you suffer for a good, long time, until you just wished you were dead . . ."

"Okaa-san . . .?"

He nodded.  "Otou-san means, 'father', okaa-san means, 'mother' . . ."

"Your . . . mother . . .?  But—"

He sighed.  "Even from the start, I was never the son they wanted.  The son they wanted was Ben, but he . . . He chose his own path—followed his best friend to America—and they . . . They never forgave him for that.  So, they had me.  I was supposed to be better than Ben, more powerful than Ben, more obedient than Ben . . ." Suddenly, he chuckled, but there was a sadness in it, a sense of inevitability . . . "But I was a failure, and . . . and they never missed an opportunity to remind me of that, either . . ."

"That's no' true," she said, brows drawing together as she scowled at the very idea that he presented to her.

He chuckled again, only this time, it actually sounded closer to what it should be. " Well, I never said I agreed with them," he allowed, brushing aside her umbrage on  his behalf.  "It did teach me to have a thicker skin than that, I guess."

"So . . . it didn't bother you?"

"I'd be lying if I said it didn't," he told her.  "It's more like, I grew to expect it—like I knew that it was coming."

"A fine thing to get used to," she muttered, unable to brush aside her own feelings as easily as he did.

"What frightens me most is . . . in a way, I'm like them—just like them . . ."

"You're . . .?  No, you aren't."

He shook his head, caught her hand to pull it away from his face, but he didn't let go of it, either.  "I am," he said again.  "When I think about everything—about how it all went down . . . I'd be lying, too, if I tried to say that a small part of me is sad, and yet . . . Most of me . . . I'm glad.  As horrible as it sounds, I . . . I'm glad . . . because if they were still alive—if they were still here . . . When I think about the way I was raised . . . If they had lived, if they had inflicted their twisted views on Kells?  I can't stand that thought.  That . . . That little boy . . . He's my _son_ . . ."

She had nothing to say to that.  When she thought of Kells, thought of the easy laughter, the joyous child . . . and the echoes in her own head—the lessons her mother had taught her early on . . . She understood what he was saying, didn't she?  Understood it because . . .

And yet, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world as she leaned up to kiss him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda Gauger ——— patalaxe
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Crow ——— cutechick18 ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _… He's nothing like that_ …


	66. Baby Steps

Standing back with his arms crossed over his chest, Ashur watched in silence as Jessa closed her eyes, focusing her mind, stretching out her youki.  A moment later, her body erupted in a mass of flames, a very slow and controlled burn.  He smiled to himself,  inordinately proud of the progress that she'd made so far.  She'd come a long way in a relatively short amount of time, given that he'd trained for years to gain a level of mastery over the earth arts.

Opening her eyes, she looked at him, her eyes glowing from an inner source, her pride unmistakable, and he nodded.  "Very good."

She laughed as the flames extinguished, bouncing just a little on the balls of her feet in much the same way as Kells.  "You mean it?" she asked rather breathlessly.  "It was good?"

He chuckled.  "It was very impressive," he told her.  "Impressive enough that I should tell you that I can't really help you anymore."

She stopped instantly, the happiness in her gaze dissipating as she ducked her chin, crossing her arms over her chest.  "I . . . I see . . ."

"You don't see," he countered, slipping his arms around her.  She resisted his hug, and he chuckled again.  "I can't help you anymore because I'm not a flame-youkai," he clarified.  "The rest of your training really is up to you.  There are no hard and fast rules, Jessa.  You can create whatever you can see in your mind."

"You mean . . . if I saw shooting fireballs in my head . . .?"

He nodded.  "Yeah, of course, but you can do better than that."

Wrinkling her nose, she stepped away from him, pulling her hair over her shoulder to twist it around as she thought.  "What was the first thing you saw?"

"Me?  Oh . . ." He chuckled, slowly shook his head.

"What?" she prodded, apparently intrigued by his amusement.

"Nothing, really . . . I mean, I got in trouble for it.  It was . . . a waste of resources—I think those were otou-san's words . . ."

"Why?"

Letting out a deep breath that raised his bangs off of his forehead, Ashur shrugged.  "Okaa-san loved _sumire_ —uh, violets . . . so I made her some, and otou-san . . . was furious."

"Made them?  How?"

He sighed.  "Out of earth . . . Then I manipulated the earth into marble."

"Can . . . Can you show me?"

He opened his mouth to say that he couldn't.   It was so ingrained in him now, after a lifetime of his father's lectures, of his disappointment that he didn't even try to hide . . . But the hopeful little smile on Jessa's face . . .

Turning on his heel, he strode over to the edge of the veranda, held his hand out over the dirt of the flower bed.  She gasped, sinking to her knees, as the earth started to rise in small and delicate tendrils, the leaves unfurling as though they were real and not made of dirt.  When the blossoms opened, Jessa laughed.  Closing his eyes, he manipulated the earth, felt it shift under his control.

"Beautiful," she breathed.

Lowering his hand, opening his eyes again, he stared thoughtfully at the riot of marble violets, and he shrugged.

She touched the petals of the closest one.  "They're gorgeous," she said.

"Wasted effort," he murmured, raising his hand once more, this time, to return them to the earth.

"What are you doing?" she exclaimed, reaching up to catch his wrist, to pull it back.

"They're sharp," he said as she rose to her feet without letting go of him.  "If Kells falls on them, he—"

"He'll live," she insisted.  "You can't destroy them!"

"Jessa—"

"They're mine."

He blinked, stared at her as she blushed a little, biting her lip, but stubbornly refused to back down.  "Yours . . .?"

She nodded once, tucking her hair behind her ear in an almost guarded fashion.  "You . . . You like my hair?  Well, I like your flowers, so . . ."

He sighed.  "I could leave one for you."

She wrinkled her nose.  "You'll leave them _all_ for me," she grumbled.

He stared at her for a long moment.  She still refused to look at him, as though she were embarrassed by her own outburst, and he frowned thoughtfully.  ' _She . . . She isn't used to asking for anything, is she . . .?_ '

' _I don't think she is . . . She's never asked us for a damn thing—only for her . . . her friend . . ._ '

He grimaced as that realization came to him, and maybe that was the real reason he relented.  "All right.  You win.  If Kells falls on them, though . . ."

"I'll . . . I'll hug him and tell him that it's all right," she said.

"I'm going to hold you to that," he warned.

She finally giggled, slipping her arms around his waist.  "Thank you," she said, giving him a little squeeze as he wrapped his arms around her, too.  "They're beautiful."

He snorted, but smiled over her head.  "They're stone flowers, Jessa.  _You're_ beautiful . . ."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Kells Satoru Philips, I did not just see you drop your book bag on the floor, did I?"

Kells skidded to a halt before he could escape into the kitchen, only to pivot on his toes to face his father, who was standing just inside the door with his arms crossed over his chest and a rather blank expression on his face.  "It slipped!" Kells insisted, throwing his tiny hands up in a gesture of complete and utter innocence that was entirely lost on his father.  Kells grabbed the bag and placed it carefully on the bench.  Having accomplished that, the lad tore off once more, no doubt to find Jessa.

Ashur heaved a sigh and shook his head before heading down the short hallway to his office.

Nora broke into a small smile as she watched the child's hasty retreat.

True enough, she wasn't entirely certain what to make of the relationship between Ashur and Jessa.  Jessa herself didn't seem to understand it, either.  The thing that confused Nora, however, was just how things had gotten so mixed up, in the first place.  From everything Jessa had said to her, she had no idea, just where she stood and seemed to be quite convinced that her mating to Ashur was some kind of a mistake, an accident—a torn condom, she'd said, but . . .

But in the weeks since Nora had arrived almost a month ago, she'd seen it, hadn't she?  Those tender looks when she wasn't paying attention, the smiles that he'd gotten on his face as he watched her with Kells, the gentleness with which he handled her . . .

Her first and foremost responsibility was, of course, to make sure that Jessa was doing well, that she found happiness, and despite the girl's concerns, Nora had to wonder if she could be happy here with this new family that she was creating.  At first, upon hearing Jessa's worries, her fears, Nora would have been hard-pressed to think that it would ever be possible.  Something about Ashur, however, was slowly changing her mind.  The problem was Jess herself, wasn't it?  She had a tendency to live in her own head, and therein lay the problem.  Just how much did Ashur know about her?  Nora herself was of the opinion that she really ought to stay out of it, that the two should work things out on their own, one way or another, but . . . But she hated to see Jessa so out of sorts, so unsure of herself.  The real question in Nora's mind had more to do with Ashur than it did with Jessa.  The problem in that was, it wasn't really her place to fix things, even if she wanted to do so . . .

It shouldn't have taken her as long as it had to track down Jessa when she was escorted off the land that should have, by rights, belonged to her all along.  It had darn near broken her heart to stand by and watch that, to be able to do nothing at all to help the child that she'd watched grow into such a beautiful young woman.  Jessa had needed someone to put their arms around her, not march her off with barely the clothing on her back, with no comfort, no protection, and treated no better than a common criminal . . .

The family's attorney, Lachlan Dunbyrne, Esquire, wasn't at all helpful.  She'd begged and pleaded and, much to her embarrassment, had even ended up in tears over the whole ordeal.  It hadn't done a damn bit of good, though.  Oh, he'd said that he'd love to help her, not that she believed him.  She'd learned her lesson long ago, hadn't she?  Never trust a bloody Scot.

In the end, though, it was the last person she'd ever expected to get help from who had come through, and all because of the gala that he'd attended—damned Scot . . .

" _Nora, lass . . . As fair as ever, I see_."

 _Nora said nothing as she pushed the door closed.  Before she could manage, however, Fergus Kinnaird slipped the toe of his thick leather ghillie boot between the frame and the door, and Nora sighed.  "What do you want, Fergus?" she demanded, stepping back and grabbing the dusting cloth off the stand and bustling away from the one man she really did not want to see . . . ever_.

" _Ach, nae, don' be thataway," he crooned as he followed her through the massive foyer of the O'Shea estate, Dunborough.  "It's been . . . Twenty?  Thirty years?  How 'boot a kiss fer ault times' sake?_ "

 _Shoving his arms away, Nora rolled her eyes and counted to ten—then on to twenty for good measure.  It didn't really help.  "Actually, it's been fifty-four years, seven months, two weeks, and three days, but who's counting?_ "

 _Fergus chuckled, running a hand through his wiry, bright orange hair.  "Oh, nae, we had some good times together, Nora.  Remember the Lassanach Glen?  Eh?_ "

" _Aye, I remember it," she allowed.  "I remember havin' to clean you up when you vomited all over from drinking too much of the home brew.  That I remember very well, thank you._ "

" _But t'was all fun afore that, and ye cannae say it wasna!_ "

" _Still wearing a skirt, I see," she muttered, slapping his hand away from where he leaned against the tall, thick oak cabinet that she was trying to clean_.

" _It's a_ kilt, _woman!  A—och, ne'er mind_ . . ."

 _Spinning on her heel, she planted a fist on her hip as she glowered at the maddening fool. "I said it once; I'll say it again: what do you want, Fergus?_ "

" _I faund yer Jessa_."

" _If you're lying to me, I'll gut you ten ways from Sunday and spoon out your innards for the gulls," she warned_.

 _Holding up his weathered hands, the burly man laughed.  " I'm no' lyin'," he promised her.  His smile lingered for another long moment, then he sighed.  "Tell me, Nora, why did we let things end?_ "

 _Rolling her eyes at his suddenly-serious turn, she snorted indelicately as she resumed her task of dusting.  "Because you're a bloody arsehole," she mumbled, giving him her back as she moved to the next shelf.  "About the Lady O'Shea—where did you find her, then?_ "

" _Aye, but I'm a changed mon nae," he said, following along behind her as she went about her chores_.

" _You were a bloody arsehole then, and you're a bloody_ lying _arsehole now," Nora stated_.

" _Och, yer killin' me, Nora-lass!_ "

" _If only it weren't illegal . . ." She sighed, turning on her heel to pin the man with a no-nonsense glower that, if he had even a whit of sense in his damned head, he would pay attention to it.  "I'm through with your games, Fergus_ _Kinnaird . . . Now, if you know something, then best spit it out before I lose what's left of my temper._ "

 _He heaved a sigh, and for the briefest of seconds, she thought that maybe—maybe—she'd finally gotten through to him.  "I saw her with me own eyes, I did.  That Zelig gala . . . getting rather friendly with Zelig's newest general, Ashur Philips from Canada, she was_."

" _Canada . . .?  Why Canada . . .?" she mused out loud_.

 _Fergus chuckled and leaned on a nearby table in what, she assumed, was his version of easy grace.  In her opinion, it looked much like a peacock trying to preen in front of the ladies.  "Surely I should get summat for the trouble I've gone to, flyin' right back to tell you all this?_ "

" _And just what do you think I owe you?" she hesitated to ask_.

 _He chuckled again, bright green eyes dancing merrily.  "How 'boot a kiss or two?_ "

 _She snorted and planted a firm hand in the middle of his face as she brushed past him.  "You didn't want my kisses while we were married, Fergus.  You don't need them now, either_."

"No-o-o-ora!"

Snapping out of her reverie as Kells came tearing back into the room, breathless and bright-eyed and smiling, the lad grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it before casting her his best-little-boy-in-the-world-grin.

Controlling her urge to smile right back at him, she arched an eyebrow and waited.  "Aye, Master Kells?"

He giggled, probably at the use of 'master' before his name.  "Jessa said you made cookies!  I really like cookies," Kells ventured.

"No sugar, or we'll all suffer," Ashur called from the study.

"Hmm . . . Good thing my cookies were made with honey," she replied.

Ashur heaved a sigh, but didn't argue with her, and she finally allowed just a tiny bit of a smile as she led Kells into the kitchen for a glass of milk and a cookie.

Hopping up onto one of the stools at the tall counter in the kitchen, Kells kicked his feet to and fro as he watched Nora pour him a sippy cup of milk before handing over one large cookie from the jar.  "There you are.  And that's enough till dinner time."

He nodded happily, jamming a huge bite of the cookie into his mouth.  "Are you Jessa's mommy?" he garbled, his mouth full.

"You may repeat your question when you've finished what you've got in there," she said, gesturing at his face.

Kells giggled and quickly chewed and swallowed.  "Are you Jessa's mommy?" he repeated seconds before stuffing another bite of the cookie into his mouth.

"Her ma?  Certainly not!  I'm her family's housekeeper.  Served the O'Shea family for . . . Oh, for a very long time."

"But Jessa said that you're like her family," he went on, a thoughtful frown marring his brow.  "Jessa's my mommy!" he exclaimed.  Then he gasped, eyes widening.  "But I'm not s'posed to tell her that yet . . . Daddy said it might freak her out . . ."

Nora frowned.  "Don't you already have a ma, Master Kells?"

He shook his head, his expression shifting into a rather sad little frown.  "I never had no mommy—not till Jessa."

"You never had _a_ mommy until Jessa," Ashur remarked, leaning in the kitchen doorway with a rather blank expression on his face.  He shouldered himself away from it, striding across the kitchen, only to tousle Kells' baby-fine hair.  "You haven't said that to Jessa yet, have you?"

Kells shook his head quickly.

Ashur chuckled.  "Just a little while longer, okay?  She's coming around . . . Daddy's . . . Daddy's working on it . . ."

Kells wrinkled his little nose.  "Can you work faster, Daddy?"

He slowly shook his head, but his smile didn't falter.  "Don't you think she's worth it?  Being patient?"

The child considered that for a long moment, then finally bobbed his head in a nod as his smile returned.  "Yeah, 'cause I morbid curious her!"

Ashur laughed and mussed the boy's hair a little more.  "It's fine to say that you . . . you love her, Kells," he told him.

Nora didn't miss the slight flinch on Ashur's face when he'd said that, and she frowned.  She'd seen the way that he had raised the stone flowers for her, had heard the conversation that had passed between the two while she was airing the area rug from the living room . . . What she'd seen bespoke love—real love—so why did he falter over the words . . .?

"Daddy!  Can you practice wif me?" Kells asked, hopping down from his stool and snatching up his cup to dump in the sink.

"Okay," Ashur agreed, and the two started toward the doors.

Kells stopped before he ducked outside, however, long enough to turn back to Nora once more.  "Fanks!" he hollered before dashing out behind his father.

Nora chuckled to herself as she watched the two through the bank of windows.  No doubt about it, Ashur Philips was a fine father, but she knew that already from everything Jessa had said.  That was apparently never in question, as far as Jessa was concerned.  Then again, Jessa had also implied that she didn't know much more about Ashur, either, which seemed entirely odd.  After all, how could the two of them been living together for months and not really know much of anything about each other . . .?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was late.  She wasn't entirely sure how late, but she knew well enough that it was past eleven.  Ignoring the tiny voice in the back of her mind that called her a coward, she squared her shoulders and knocked softly on the door.  It took a few moments before Nora answered.  Jessa could hear her shuffling around inside the small room that served as Nora's sitting room-slash-kitchenette.

"Does your Ashur snore?" Nora asked in lieu of a proper greeting as she stepped back to allow Jessa inside.

Jessa shot the housekeeper a puzzled sort of look, not entirely sure just why Nora had asked her such an odd question.  "No . . ."

"Then tell me, lass, just why you're down here with an old woman like me instead of tucked up in your bed with your mate?"

Jessa sighed and bit her lip . . .  "If you don't want me to come in, I'll . . . I'll go . . ."

Nora sighed and made a quick face before waving for Jessa to take a seat.  "So, if he doesn't snore, does he have deplorable gas?"

"Of course not!" she said, rubbing her forehead as she plopped onto the other chair facing the small television that was turned down so low it could barely be heard.  "I . . . I told you . . ."

"That he's not really your mate?  Do you honestly think that?"

"It was an accident," she muttered, scowling at her hands, tucked demurely into her lap, almost hidden in the folds of the oversized tan sweater that hung to her knees over black leggings.

"Are you sure about that?" Nora replied.  "He doesn't act like a man who thinks it was all an accident . . ."

That earned her a rather petulant little pout.  "It . . . It had to be.  He really wouldn't have taken me as his mate otherwise . . ."

Settling back in her chair, Nora shot her a no-nonsense look.  "And have you talked to him about this?  Asked him about it?"

Jessa grimaced and slowly shook her head, lowering her chin onto her raised knees as she hugged them close, just like she had when she was a little girl.  "I don't need to," she replied.

"All right, then how do you know?" Nora countered, her tone very matter-of-fact.  It was one of the things that Jessa appreciated about the older woman.  She wasn't given to silly displays of emotion where none was needed.  Pragmatic was a good way to describe her.

Shaking her head, she simply couldn't bring herself to telling Nora about Hana.  Something about it almost felt like a betrayal of Ashur's trust, even though she wasn't entirely sure how that was.  Too intensely personal, maybe, or maybe . . .

" _Jessa!  Stop your fussing!  A lady does not go looking for sympathy because none will ever be given.  You're better than those common people, and they know it.  No one ever feels sorry for anyone of the peerage, and why should they?   Just hold your chin up and smile . . . There's a good girl_. . ."

Nora sighed.  "Lamb, he's never going to know anything if you won't talk to him.  Are you telling me you haven't tried to speak to him—to really speak to him—this whole time?"

"I speak to him," she countered.  "He has enough things to worry about.  He doesn't need to worry about me, too."

"That's where you're wrong, Jessa.  That's what a mate—a _true_ mate—does . . ."

"And Lord Fergus?  He wasn't your true mate?"

Nora slowly shook her head, stood up to make a cup of tea.  "Fergus Kinnaird is an eejit," she muttered, measuring loose tea into two cups.  "There's not a woman alive that would have that sorry excuse for a—"

"But you married him . . . mated him," Jessa pointed out, glad to turn the conversation away from Ashur for the time being.

"Ma thought it would be a good match," she grumbled.  "It wasn't.  Let's just leave it at that."

Jessa rolled her eyes but smiled since she'd heard all of this before at one time or another.  "It still makes no sense," she remarked.  "I mean, you're a lady yourself.  You should be living at Dunbronne, not working as a housekeeper . . ."

Nora snorted.  "I'd rather be a housekeeper here than Countess of Dunbronne, buried out in the Highlands, especially when it would mean I'd have to be married to that jackass that calls himself Earl of Dunbronne," she insisted.

She shook her head.  "Ma said that it's a lady's place to keep her own council with a smile," she said.

She didn't see the frown that surfaced on Nora's face as the woman peered over her shoulder at her—and she didn't see the sadness that surfaced in the depths of her gaze, either . . .

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Also posted a special oneshot! Feel free to read it here_ : https://archiveofourown.org/works/4723970/chapters/28203585
> 
> ==========
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
>  _** — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
>  _** Amanda Gauger ——— patalaxe ——— minthegreen ——— Okmeamithinknow ——— Monsterkittie
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
>  _** Crow ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Nora_** :  
>  _Why is the lass hiding out down here_ …?


	67. Murphy's Law

Ashur picked up his cell phone when it buzzed, breaking into a smile as the image of Kells and Jessa loaded on the screen.  She'd taken him out riding about a few hours ago, but it looked like they'd stopped along the way to play.  Kells was pretty well covered with dirt from the top of his head to his waist—the grass was too long to see any lower, and Jessa, kneeling beside him with her phone held out to capture the image, was a little smudgy herself.  Her hair was caught up in a high ponytail, the curls falling over her shoulders like a gorgeous sunset cloud.  Eyes bright and shining on the both of them, they looked like they might well be having the time of their lives, and Ashur sighed.  Stuck in the office, waiting for a couple men to stop by for a meet and greet that he hadn't been able to avoid, he'd much rather have been out there with Jessa and Kells on the bright and sunny early September, lazy Saturday afternoon, to be just as filthy and just as happy as those two were . . .

Staring at his phone for a moment, he rolled his eyes, feeling just a little ridiculous, and shook his head as he brought up the camera and held it out, making an exaggerated sad face that might make Kells laugh, anyway.  Then he added a single word: _jealous_ , and fired off the picture and text.

His phone buzzed again, and he laughed at the text she'd written back: ' _Call in sick.  I know the boss._ '

' _I wish.  Have some fun for me, will you?_ '

Her answer was a smiley face.

Sighing again as he dropped the phone onto the desk, he stood up when the doorbell echoed through the house.  "I've got it," he called.  He wasn't sure where Nora was, but it wasn't a big deal.

Until he opened the door, anyway, only to find five men and their wives . . . and daughters?

"Uh . . ."

"Sorry, Philips," Jerry Baker said, leaning forward to extend his hand.  "Mentioned to a couple friends that we were coming out here to meet you, and they just had to tag along!  The more, the merrier, right?"

Ashur blinked and forced a tepid smile, stepping back to admit the guests.  "It's fine," he said.  "Welcome."

"Ash, this is my wife, Karen, and our daughters—I think you met them at the gala?  This is Michelle, my oldest, and my baby, Amy—but you already know her, right?"

Smiling politely and nodding his head as the ladies stepped inside, Ashur had to tamp down his irritation at the memory of what Myrna had told him about these two girls.

"Looks like you're due for a houseful," Thurston Margreave greeted.  "And you remember my wife, Clementine?"

"I certainly do," Ashur allowed, smiling at the woman.

"Ryan Harper.  Pleased to meet you, and this is my lovely mate, Cindy."

Ashur nodded, shaking Ryan's hand.  "Likewise."

"Jacques Bonheur . . ."

"Nice to meet you," Ashur replied, shaking his hand, too.

Jacques chuckled.  "This gorgeous woman is my wife, Rachael, and our daughter, Sabine."

"Make yourselves at home," Ashur said.

Rachael smiled at him.  Sabine quite literally batted her eyes.

"Saved the best for last, eh?  I'm Theo Riley, and this is my beautiful mate, Miranda—and our unnamed, unknown-gendered bump," he said, rubbing his wife's distended belly lovingly.

Ashur chuckled and followed them all into the living room after closing the door, absently wondering if any of them would notice if he just ducked out of the house and disappeared with Jessa and Kells . . . For some reason, he had a feeling that this whole thing was a time bomb, just waiting to explode . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jessa dismounted Stardust in the shade of the stable as Kells hopped off Humpty Dumpty, only to dance around the wooden floor.  "Whose cars are all those?" she asked when Laith stepped up to take Stardust's reins.

"Looked like a giant group of high society types," he replied with a rather bored look.  "Ash didn't look too pleased about it, though."

"Hmm . . . I thought he said he was having a couple gentlemen over to meet with him.  He didn't say anything about that many, though."

Laith chuckled, unbuckling Stardust's saddle and yanking it off the horse.  "Yeah, well, they all brought their womenfolk, too.  Better hurry, Jessa, before one of them makes the moves on your man."

"Shut up, Laith," she muttered, cheeks pinking as she grimaced down at herself.  Covered in dirt and grass stains all over from playing Cowboys and Indians with Kells, she looked an absolute fright, and, glancing at Kells, only to discover that he was even more grimy than she was, she sighed.  "Come on, Kells," she said, reaching for the boy's hand.  "Let's see if we can't sneak in through the back and get cleaned up before anyone sees us . . ."

"'Cause we're filthy!" Kells hollered happily.

She laughed despite herself.  "Yes, Kells, we are . . ."

Circling around the back of the house, Jessa scooped Kells up, ready to leap to the balcony outside Ashur's—her—bedroom.  Sneak inside, get cleaned up quickly.  That was the plan, and it was a rather brilliant one, as far as she could tell.

"Oh, Jessa!  Hello!  How are you?"

Stopping abruptly and whipping around at the voice that called out to her, Jessa managed not to grimace as she pasted on a bright smile while Kells giggled at the sudden motion.  "Again, Jessa!  Again!"

Setting the boy on his feet, she tried in vain to smooth her tee-shirt—a tee-shirt that used to be white but was know a kind of dingy grayish-brown, and her shorts that were just cut off jeans, entirely frayed around the rather short bottom edges, were also beyond dirty, too, and didn't that just figure? She thought as more ladies filed out of the house behind Clementine Margreave . . .

"Uh, h-hello," she greeted, hoping—praying—that she didn't have as much dirt and grime on her face as she was afraid that she did.  Given that she'd spent the better part of four hours, crawling around through the grass, ferreting her way under fallen trees, shimmying her way up into standing trees, and all for Kells' very obvious delight . . . She stifled a sigh.

"Oh, it's the . . . _nanny_ ," Michelle Baker remarked in a very loud and very snarky aside to her equally obnoxious sister and another girl not much older than Jessa that she didn't recognize.

Amy Baker smiled insincerely, straightening her pristine yellow dress, as though to point out the very obvious disparities.  "Right, right . . . Gypsy or something, wasn't it?"

Jessa's smile was tight, almost painful.  "It's Jessa, actually," she replied.

"Oh, the girl from the party! The one who . . ." Trailing off as she cleared her throat, Karen Baker's smile dimmed a few degrees, going from cautiously polite to downright icy in a matter of moments as Jessa struggled to fight down the flush that was threatening . . .

Clementine turned and pinned each of the ladies with a quelling look.  They didn't seem to get the hint.

"She looks no better than a street urchin now, does she?  It just goes to show that clothes and a little makeup really can do wonders for _anyone_ . . ."

"Oh, Clemmie!  We're just having a bit of fun . . . Isn't that right . . . Jessa, isn't it?" the last of the women who hadn't yet spoken, said.

"We . . . We didn't realize that there was going to be company," Jessa replied tightly.  "Please, do excuse the dirt . . . Kells and I were out, riding and we stopped to play a bit . . ."

"Riding?  Oh, Stardust!  Dear, you must tell me how you like him!" Clementine said, hurrying over to Jessa with a very bright, very friendly smile.  "Did you get a pony, too, little man?"

Kells nodded slowly.  "I named him Humpty Dumpty."

Clementine laughed.  "That's a very sweet name!  I'd love to see your pony later, if you'd be so kind as to show him to me?"

Kells thought it over and nodded, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of showing off his little pony.

Despite Clementine's very obvious attempt to cover up the snide commentary that was still being bandied about, Jessa managed to hold onto her very tight smile and ignore the other remarks.

"Lady O'Shea, would you take tea here on the veranda with your . . . guests?"

Jessa glanced up, thankful to see the housekeeper, standing at the table with a tray of iced tea in tall, sparkling glasses.  "Yes, please, Nora."

The housekeeper said nothing else as she unloaded the tray and turned to head back for the kitchen, but not before Jessa caught the absolute rage in the woman's eyes.  Oh, maybe to someone else it might have been nothing.  Jessa was too familiar with Nora, however, not to see it for what it was, and she stifled a sigh.

"Sure you won't want to touch . . . anything . . . until you clean yourself up?" one of the women who still hadn't bothered to introduce herself said in an overly polite tone.

"I'm so sorry, Jessa . . . I didn't realize that you were headed off to do that when I saw you," Clementine remarked with a frown.

"It's fine," Jessa assured her.

Clementine gave her arm a reassuring squeeze before stepping away to take a glass of tea.

"Why are we being entertained by the hired help?" the other younger woman asked the Baker girls.

"Well, I suppose that perhaps she might think she's more than what she is, given what happened at the gala," Amy murmured, flicking Jessa a very condescending glance.

"It's a little insulting, don't you think?"

"What?  That we're being left out here with Cinderella?"

"Jessa?  Why they being mean?" Kells whispered to her as he tugged on her hand and stepped a little closer to her.

She smiled at the boy, hoping he couldn't see right through it.  "Why don't you run inside and wash up and change your clothes?" she suggested instead.

He quickly shook his head, stepping even closer to her, his little arms wrapping around her leg.

"Is that the general's son?" One of the other women that Jessa didn't know murmured to another beside her.  "He's a mess!"

"It's like _The Sound of Music_ , isn't it?" the other woman murmured back.

Gritting her teeth and tamping down the desire to point out that she could, in fact, hear them quite plainly, Jessa picked up Kells instead and tried to make her smile just a little brighter, a little more welcoming.  After all, they were Ashur's guests, and it was up to her, apparently, to entertain them—or be the unwitting entertainment, as it were . . .

"If you ladies would like to visit amongst yourselves, Kells and I will be back shortly," she offered, gesturing at the large patio table before hurrying toward the doors.

"If she can even get a comb through that rats' nest she calls hair . . ."

"Is that the one they say he . . . dragged off during the gala?" one of the women whispered.

"I can't believe any nanny of such an important man would allow his child to go running about like that!  He looked like a beast, not the son of Canada's general!"

"What do you expect from someone who's a living, breathing Raggedy Ann?" Amy added with a high-pitched giggle.  "Did you see that wild hair of hers?  I'd just die . . ."

"She's a very sweet girl," Clementine Margreave cut in icily.  "Haven't you heard the old adage?  If you don't have anything nice to say—best you shut the hell up."

 

* * *

 

 

"Daddy!"

"Ah, Kells, you're . . . even filthier than you were in the picture.  Did you have fun with Jessa?"

He nodded, glancing around at the gathering of men before holding up his little arms, intention clear, and Ashur chuckled as he scooped the boy up, ignoring the dirt and grime that he wore like a second skin.  "I wanna stay wif you, Daddy," he said, laying his head on Ashur's shoulder.

"Okay, but you seem a little upset.  Something the matter?"

Kells sighed, jamming his dirty hand into his mouth—a sure sign that something was bothering him—and something he hadn't done in a very long time.  "Those women are mean," he said simply before burrowing his face against Ashur's neck.

He frowned.  "Would you gentlemen  excuse me," he said before striding out of the room with Kells still in his arms.  "Kells?  What do you mean?"

Kells shrugged as Ashur headed up the stairs to clean him up a little.  "They were making Jessa sad," he said simply, his clear blue eyes taking on a somber light.  Then he threw his tiny hands up in the air and scrunched up his shoulders.  "I don't know why!"

Ashur set him down and placed a hand on his head, focusing his youki as the dirt fell away from Kells into a small pile around his feet, leaving him as clean as he was when he left the house with Jessa this morning.  "Wow, Daddy!  Can I do that, too?  Then I never gots to take a baff again!"

"You'll never have to, not gots to, Kells," Ashur chuckled and tousled Kells' now-clean hair.  "You can, I'm sure, when you're older, but you'll still have to take showers."

He made a face, then blinked, turning his head upward to peer at Ashur.  "Daddy, what's a Raggedy Ann?"

"Wh-What?" Ashur blurted, brows knitting together as a frown surfaced.  "Where'd you hear that?"

Biting his bottom lip, he shot Ashur the look reserved for whenever he perceived that he'd displeased his father, and Ashur drew a deep breath, managed a wan smile as he knelt before the child.  "Did . . . someone say that to Jessa?"

Kells shook his head, 'no', but his little scowl widened.  "No . . . She didn't say it to Jessa, but she said it about her . . ."

"Which one?" he asked, hoping that Kells might be able to tell him.

Kells made a face.  "The ugly one!" he hollered.

Just for a moment, Ashur smiled.  Then he leaned forward and kissed the boy's forehead.  "Hey, why don't you go out to the stables?  See what Laith and Carol are doing."

"Okay," Kells agreed.  He started to turn, to run off, but he stopped suddenly and frowned at Ashur again.  "You won't let them be mean to Jessa no more, right?"

Pushing himself to his feet, Ashur smiled.  "No, Kells, I won't."

Kells stared at him for a long moment, but he finally nodded his little head.  "It makes me mad, Daddy," he said in a rather quiet voice.

Ashur nodded.  "It makes Daddy mad, too . . ."

He watched the boy go as he stepped over to the window, watching as Kells ran out of the house and toward the stables.  He waited until he saw Kells dart inside before turning on his heel and striding out of the room.

He wasn't sure what he expected when he walked into his bedroom.  He supposed that, on some level, he expected to be stung by the anger in her youki since it tended to be her emotional go-to.  He stopped short when the unmistakable scent of tears drifted to him from the bathroom, and he frowned.

From where he stood, just inside the room, he could see her reflection in the sheet mirror over the sink, but if she knew he was there, she gave no indication, and he gritted his teeth as her upset colored the air.  Staring at the mirror and clad in nothing more than a towel, she yanked at her damp hair with her pitiful brush.  The tangled locks were looped and wrapped around it in a horrible mess, and he grimaced at the tears on her cheeks, in her eyes, as she growled in frustration and yanked even harder.  After another minute as she tried in vain to untangle the mess, she uttered a half-sob, half-growl, letting go of the brush, gathering her hair at the nape of her neck in one hand, her intention very clear.

Ashur didn't wait to see more.  Dashing forward, he grabbed her hand before she could use her claws to hack off her hair.  She gasped when he pulled her around, when he folded her into his arms.  "Jessa, don't," he said softly.  "Haven't I told you?  I love your hair . . ."

"It's stupid!" she railed, leaning against him, her tone growing more and more agitated by the second as a few more tears squeezed out of her.  "It's just hair, Ashur!  It'll grow back by morning, and it's stupid! Stupid!  It's just like they said!  I can't even get a damn brush through it!"

"Like who said?" he asked her, knowing the answer, and hating the fact that he'd let those vipers into their home—that he'd allowed them to hurt her at all.

Drawing a deep breath, she choked back her tears, as she managed to completely staunch them with a ruthlessness that he rarely saw in anyone, ever, but in her . . . In her and for such a reason, it was horrifying . . .

She turned away from him, splashed a few handfuls of water over her face, and by the time she'd blotted herself dry, the tears were gone completely.  "It'll grow back by morning," she stated once more, only this time, there was a strange sense of detachment in her voice, an unnatural calm that was too measured, too serene.

"Wait here," he said as he started to turn away.  "I'll be right back.  Don't cut it off, all right?"

She stared at him in the mirror, and she nodded, but he could see in her eyes that she honestly didn't think there was much he could do about it.

He ran down the hallway to Jessa's old room, rifled through the cabinets and drawers under her sink in the bathroom until he found it: the jar of hair cream that Manami had left for her.  There wasn't much in it, but he hoped it'd do the trick because the last thing—the very last thing—he wanted to do was to let her cut off her hair, even if he wasn't entirely sure why the idea was so utterly abhorrent to him.  It had more to do with a feeling than it did her actual hair.  After all, he did know better than anyone that it would be back to normal by morning.  For some reason, though, the thought of her, walking back into that den of she-devils after having to do such a thing?  He couldn’t stand that, not at all . . .

By the time he stepped back into their room, she was dressed in a very pretty white cotton babydoll dress that just reached mid-thigh and was seated on the edge of the foot of the bed.  The brush was still tangled in her hair, and he spared a moment to kiss her forehead before swirling his finger to indicate that she should turn around.

She did, tucking her legs up under her as he scooped the cream out of the jar and set it aside.  "There's not much in here," he said rather apologetically.  "I'll call Nami tomorrow and ask her to send another jar or two."

She sighed and shook her head.  "It won't matter," she told him, her voice a little dull, a little bit of a monotone.  "I can't count how many times they just cut it off . . . It . . . It was easier that way . . ."

"Who?" he asked, gently working the cream into her hair, pleased when the brush started to loosen.

"My nannies . . . my ma . . ." she replied quietly.  "It was . . . It was my fault . . . I didn't take care to play correctly . . ."

"Correctly?  How does a child play correctly?" he countered, working the brush free, carefully, gently, tugging it through her hair.

She drew her knees up, rested her cheek on them, her eyes closing as she relaxed.  "I wanted to climb trees or run about . . . Little ladies don't play like that."

He frowned.  She didn't see it.  "Children are children.  They should play in such a way that they have fun," he said.

She sighed, and for a moment, he almost thought she might well go to sleep.  "I hate my hair," she admitted quietly.  "I just . . . I wanted it to be like everyone else's, but it's always been . . . this . . ."

Ashur set the brush aside, slipped onto the bed beside her, touched her cheek with gentle fingers.  "Do you want me to tell them to go home?" he asked.

She forced her eyes open, managed a thin smile that didn't begin to touch her eyes.  "I'm okay," she said, and maybe, she thought that if she said it with enough conviction, it'd be true . . . "I'm much better now.  Thank you."

He stared at her for another long moment before relenting with a nod.  Standing up, he reached for her hands, and she let him take them, let him tug her to her feet.  "You're gentler than any of my nannies ever were," she admitted as he pulled her out of the bedroom and down the hallway.

He chuckled.  "I'll brush your hair whenever you'd like, _Amaterasu_."

She didn't laugh, but he could feel the slight release of tension in her youki.

Stepping into the living room, he ignored the obvious curiosity of the men who turned to look at them.  "Gentlemen, if you wouldn't mind, why don't we join the ladies outside."

Instead of following the men outside, however, he detoured through the kitchen.  "Nora, I hate to ask, but I was wondering if you'd mind bring out a couple bottles of champagne and some glasses, please?"

Nora blinked and glanced down at the tray of hors d'oeuvres she was prepping.  "Would you like that now?"

"If that's all right?"

Nora nodded as Jessa shot Ashur a questioning glance.  He smiled at her, but didn't explain, leading her outside.  On the one hand, he sorely wanted to tell the men to take their venomous women out of there and never to darken his doorstep again.  On the other?  He had a feeling that Jessa would be more upset over that, even though he wasn't sure why that might be.  Either way, however, he'd be damned if he'd allow that kind of behavior toward Jessa, especially not in her home, under her roof . . .

He led her over to Thurston and Clementine when he noticed the reproachful glances that the woman was dealing the other ladies in attendance.   When they spotted Jessa, both offered her very genuine smiles.

"You're looking much more relaxed, Jessa, and that dress is absolutely adorable!" Clementine said with a very warm smile.

Jessa nodded.  "I feel much better, thank you."

Thurston's eyes widened as his grin broadened.  "Congratulations!  I had no idea," he said, shaking Ashur's hand and clapping him on the arm.

"Thank you," Ashur replied.

Gritting his teeth as he heard the vague whispers, he pretended to pay attention to whatever Thurston was saying.

"Well, well, looks like she managed to detangle the rat's nest . . ."

"Which is whiter?  Her skin or that dress?"

"Maybe she ought to go find Raggedy Andy . . . I'm sure they'd be very happy together . . ."

He turned and stared at the two little vipers who were murmuring to each other, obviously not meaning to be overheard and taking it sorely for granted that youkai tended to have excellent hearing.  "Michelle and Amy, was it?  Are you talking about someone in particular, or are you just . . . talking?" he asked dryly, leveling a bored stare at them as he slipped an arm around Jessa's waist.

If they could have paled under the layers of makeup on their faces, they would have, he supposed.  It didn't really give him any real sense of satisfaction.  No, if anything it only served to irritate him just a little more.

 The girls were saved from having to answer, however, when Nora stepped outside with two buckets of champagne on ice and a lot of crystal flutes.  She set them on the table and shot Ashur what might have been a look of approval as she filled the glasses, but he wasn't sure.  Taking Jessa's hand, he led her over to the table to give her a glass before taking one for himself.

"Excuse me," he said, tapping on the crystal flute with his claws as Jessa shot him a questioning glance.  He waited until silence had fallen before gesturing at the filled glasses while Nora slipped back into the house.  "I just wanted to take this opportunity to formally introduce you all to my mate, Jessa, so please, raise a glass with us."

"What are you doing?" she whispered as the assembly reached in to take glasses, as congratulations were murmured and glasses raised.

He chuckled, leaned down to kiss her cheek, and whispered, "I'm sorry.  I should have at least warned you before you got back.  It's my fault, and—"

She didn't respond to that as she pressed a finger against his lips to silence him, but the look on her face told him plainly that she understood, that she wasn't at all upset with him over the impromptu gathering.

"I promise you, Jessa, that, as your mate, I will never, ever let anyone disparage you . . . and should I ever hear of it happening, you can rest assured that those people will find that they are not welcome here.  Not now, not ever," he murmured, knowing full well that he could be heard, just as he'd overheard those venomous girls.

She smiled at him, and it was a real smile, a genuine smile . . . It was mesmerizing, intoxicating, and Ashur smiled, too, as he leaned down and kissed her . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_A/N_** :
> 
>  _In case you haven't read it, I posted a oneshot yesterday.  I can be read here_ :  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/4723970/chapters/28203585
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** minthegreen ——— patalaxe
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _Rather dirty but effective_ …


	68. Falling Leaves

"Ashur?"

Glancing up from the file he was looking over, Ashur set it aside and smiled just a little as Jessa hovered in the doorway with an almost nervous kind of air.  Dressed in a very pretty black skirt that flared around her hips, just brushing against her ankles, she fiddled with the sleeves of the soft pink sweater.  "H-How do I look?" she asked, her voice a little breathless.

"Good enough to drag upstairs and—"

"Ashur!" she scolded, her cheeks lighting up with a very becoming blush since he'd kept her up late into the night doing just that sort of thing already.  "Be serious!"

He stood up and shrugged, coming around to lean against the front of the desk.  "I am," he informed her.

She made a face, but giggled.  "You're impossible."  As quickly as her amusement had come, however, it dissipated, and she sighed.  "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Is this about yesterday?" he asked, leveling a pointed look at her.

She bit her lip and shrugged.  She hid her anxiety well enough on the outside.  Too bad he could feel it radiating off of her youki in wave after jagged wave.  "N-No-o-o . . ." she drawled.

He grimaced inwardly since it was pretty obvious that it was about that.  "I'm sorry that happened," he told her with a frown. "I really . . . It shouldn't have.  I apologize."

"That wasn't your fault," she said.   "It's fine.  I mean, at least I don't look like a nanny today . . ."

He wanted to say more, but she didn't seem to agree.  In the end, he let go of it since that's what she seemed to want to do, even if he still wasn't pleased with everything that had happened.  "Well, Clementine invited you, not me.  She likes you," he told her, crossing his arms over his chest.  "And just why would I want to go have lunch with a bunch of strange women is entirely beyond me, anyway.  I don't know the first thing about the arts or the theatre . . . Besides, as my mate, you can represent me just as well—and look a far sight better in the doing."

She didn't look like she believed him.  "Do you think I should wear something a little less casual?"

"It doesn't really matter what Amaterasu wears, she's still the goddess of the sun," he told her.

She let out a deep breath, didn't look like she bought into his line completely, but she did smile just a little as he beckoned her over to hug her.  She did, and he kissed her forehead, giving her another little squeeze before reluctantly letting go.  "Do you want me to decline their invitation?  I don't know the first thing about serving on any kind of board of directors . . ."

He shrugged.  "Only if you want to.  If you like their foundation, then you should accept.  If you don't?  Then tell them that we hate the arts and don't think they should ever be encouraged."

She rolled her eyes and gave him a little shove as he chuckled.  "You're terrible."

"Oh, yeah, before you go . . ."  Stepping around the desk again, Ashur opened the drawer and handed her an envelope.  "Here."

"What's this?" she asked rather dubiously.

"Nothing bad," he informed her, "and they're not payment for anything, so don't even think it.  For the record, I had them yesterday, but you took off to play with Kells, and then . . . it was the plague of locusts . . ."

She stared at him for another long moment before folding back the flap and pulling out a couple of credit cards—cards with her name on them.  "What should I use these for?"

He shrugged.  "Anything you want.  It'd take some doing to max them out, anyway . . ."

She frowned.  "What if I do?"

"Max them?  I'd pay them off, of course.  I mean, if you think you can break me financially, though, it's going to take a hell of a lot more than those to do it."  He grinned.  "Go ahead and try, though . . ."

"Okay," she said briskly, slipping the cards into her small purse before smoothing her skirt again.  "Wish me luck."

"With the lunch or with maxing out those cards?"

"Very funny, Ashur Philips," she muttered.

He chuckled.  "You don't need it," he called after her, "but good luck."

 

 

* * *

 

 

" _Ma said that it's a lady's place to keep her own council with a smile_ . . ."

Scowling as she slipped the lamb stew into the oven, Nora couldn't help the words that kept echoing through her head.  Then again, it wasn't the words that bothered her so much as the finality, the near cynicism, in Jessa's tone that did.  It was exactly the kind of thing that Jessa had heard, time and again, from her mother—her darling, doting mother . . .

Maybe it was the crux of the problem, too . . .

Jessa believed all of those things, didn't she?  With all of her heart, she did . . . Those things that Orlaith had told her time and again . . .

" _Standin' in the doorway isna gonna tell me what's on yer mind, Nora_."

 _Stepping into the warm and cozy study, Nora closed the door behind herself and crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to sit down for the moment as she frowned thoughtfully at her much-younger brother_.

 _Sensing that there was something on her mind, he sighed.  "What did Orlaith do nae?_ "

 _Ignoring his poor attempt at a joke, Nora slowly shook her head.  "She forgets that Jessa's still just a babe," she said, wandering away from the desk and toward the tall window.  "How many times does she need to remind her that a lady should be grateful for what she's given?  That she should keep quiet and be thankful?_ "

 _Niall sighed and sat back heavily in his chair that groaned in complaint.  "Orli's jus' being pragmatic.  She loves Jessa_ —adores _her_ —"

" _And she's trying to smother her!  Not even two, and she's already stifling her with all that talk!  Niall_ —"

" _I'll talk to her, I swear," Niall said.  "She just . . . She kens what it's like from the other side . . . She's jus' afeered that Jessa's a little too much like her_ . . ."

The memory faded, and Nora sighed.  The girl . . . She'd heard the same things too often, too much, too early, and all of it had solidified in her mind, to the point that she never, ever questioned it, and because of that, she also refused to question the one person whose answers she so desperately needed . . .

The thing was, Nora might well have believed Jessa's initial misgivings.  So set on believing that she couldn't possibly be Ashur's true mate that she'd discarded the notion before she'd ever bothered to entertain the possibilities, hadn't she?  And the problem with that was simple enough: if she couldn't bring herself to question it, then how in the world would she ever get her answers?

The two seemed content enough, and yet there were still isolated moments: moments when Nora could see past the careful sense of cautious acceptance that Jessa held in place.  It was the sense that Jessa actually felt as though her mate was settling for her—putting a good face on something that simply couldn't be helped—that bothered Nora the most.  She'd seen Jessa back down too many times in the past, watched as she took what she was given because that was all she could expect . . . And that was no way to live.  It bothered Nora because she . . . She'd done that, too, for centuries . . . until she simply couldn't take it any longer . . .

The thing was, as much as Nora wanted to help, that inborn sense of propriety stood in the way.  That feeling that she really shouldn't interfere held her back.  Even though she was all but convinced, especially after seeing the lengths that Ashur went to, all to make sure that Jessa understood that her place was important to him, especially after overhearing some of the horrid things that those so-called ladies had been saying . . . It was all that Nora could do, to keep from marching out there and telling those rotten little slags just what she thought of them.  And then Ashur had effectively made his point quite clear and had managed to do so in a way that reassured Jessa, while letting those girls know just what he thought of them, too.

Well, it was as clear as the nose on her face, anyway: if that man didn't love Jessa, then she'd keel over, dead.

Convincing Jessa of it, however . . . That was another matter, entirely . . .

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ashur strode into the living room with a slim-file in his hand, making notes on the pages about the family that he'd discussed with Devlin.  They were looking into any leads that might at least confirm Devlin's suspicions, and so far, it was slow-going.  At the moment, Devlin was in Nova Scotia, checking around the area to see if there were any other local whispers about any of it, which was a long shot, given how long ago the actual slayings had occurred . . .

"Ah, Mr. Philips . . . will Lady Jessa be home for dinner?"

Blinking as he looked up from the file, he snapped it closed and set it on the table beside the sofa, striding over to help Nora, who was moving the furniture out to clean under it.  "Ashur's fine," he told her.  "As for Jessa, she should be back by then, but I'm not sure if she'll be hungry.  She's having a late lunch with some ladies from the Quebec Thespian Association.  Clementine Margreave offered her a spot on their board of directors . . ."

Nora wrinkled her nose and tried to wave him away as he took the chair and moved it for her.  "Sounds damn boring, if you ask me," she said.

Ashur chuckled.  "Me, too, but if it's something she wants to do . . ."

"Go sit down," Nora commanded, reaching for the broom.  "This is my job, and if you don't mind, I don't particularly like when anyone tries to help me.  I'm a little OCD that way."

He nodded and stepped away to grab a bottle of water out of the wetbar.  It occurred to him that he could ask her some questions since Jessa wasn't home to overhear him and get the wrong idea.  If he weren't feeling a little . . . desperate, he might well ignore the temptation.  As it was, though, there were just too many things that he only understood on a partial level, and, try as he might, he had yet to really get her to talk about most of it . . . "Can I ask you something?"

Nora glanced up for a moment before resuming her task.  "You can ask anything you like.  Whether I answer or not . . . We'll see."

Smiling at her sensibilities, Ashur sat back on the couch.  "You've known Jessa a long time, right?  All her life?"

"I have," she replied, setting aside the broom and reaching for the dry mop.

He sighed.  "I don't want you to think that I'm trying to go behind her back," he said.  "It's just . . . There are things about her I don't understand—I want to, but . . . But when I ask her things, I get these half-answers, if I get any at all, and I . . . I even have to wonder if she even has the answers herself . . ."

"You had your question," she stated.  "Now, it's my turn."

Settling back as he broke the seal on the water bottle, Ashur almost smiled.  "All right."

Leaning on the dry mop, Nora eyed him for several seconds, and he had the feeling that she was trying to read his mind.  "She really _is_ your mate, isn't she?"

That wasn't actually the question he expected, and he shrugged.  "Of course, she is."

"And you knew this when you—when it happened?"

He considered pointing out that it was technically two questions.  He didn't, though, since he rather thought that Nora would stop talking completely if he did.  "There wasn't a condom to break, so yes, I knew it when it happened."  Grimacing, he rubbed his forehead.  "I just didn't realize that she'd think . . ."  He sighed.

"Why didn't you talk about it with her first?"

It was the logical question, sure.  He was a little sick of having to answer it, honestly.  "Lots of reasons, I suppose . . . It didn't occur to me, though.  I mean, if I know she's my mate, then I just assumed she knew it, too . . . I . . . I really don't understand how she doesn't know."

A strange sort of expression flickered over Nora's features—a sense of understanding, a bit of a sad sort of inevitability . . . But these things disappeared so fast that Ashur wasn't sure what he'd seen, at all.  " _Accept what you're given, and be glad for it_ ," she said.

Ashur frowned.  "What?"

She said nothing as she moved the chair back into place, and she gestured at it, as though asking him if she could sit.  He nodded.  The way she sank into the chair was surprising: back perfectly straight, a very slow settle.  He'd seen Jessa sit that way, too, but it was usually in a more formal setting: a restaurant . . . or the gala . . .

"I'll tell you about my girl," she said quietly, almost reverently. "Any fool could see that you adore her, that you love her—any fool, but the girl herself, it seems . . ."

Ashur didn't confirm or deny that as he waited for her to continue.

"I'll tell you about her, but first, I think I should tell you a bit about Orlaith—her mother."

"Her mother," he repeated, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Nora smiled.  "It is important."

He nodded.  "All right."

"Orlaith Daugherty was a commoner—the daughter of a blacksmith.  In those days, the gentry did not marry outside of their peers, and of those, most of those marriages were arranged.  So, it came as a great surprise when Niall O'Shea came home one day and announced very casually that he'd found his mate and that he was going to marry her eventually.  His parents were thrilled, of course, until he happened to mention that she was the daughter of the local smithy in the low-town.  They tried to talk him out of it—at least, for a little while—but they gradually started to realize that he was not wrong, that this . . . urchin, this wee bit of baggage, really was destined to become the new Marchioness of Aumberlese.  They had no choice but to welcome her with open arms."

"That sounds a little dubious."

Her smile was rather enigmatic, no more than the slightest lifting of the corners of her lips.  "It _was_ entirely dubious," she explained.  "This uneducated, flighty bit of nothing . . . Ma thought that Orlaith was going to be the end of them all . . . She wasn't, but . . . Well, I'll get to that."

"You worked for them then?"

She sighed.  "No, I didn't.  I lived with them, off and on."  She must have intercepted Ashur's somewhat confused expression, and she laughed softly.  "Did I fail to mention that Niall's my wee brother?"

"You're Jessa's aunt?"

She nodded slowly, straightening her long black skirt with her nimble fingers.  "Aye."

"Then why are you a housekeeper?"

"A long story, to be sure, and it has nothing at all to do with this one—not yet, anyway."

Ashur chuckled, enjoying the conversation with this no-nonsense woman.  "I apologize.  Go on."

Pausing for a moment, as though to gather her thoughts, Nora drew a deep breath and smiled, just a little.  "Ma decided that the best course would be to move Orlaith into the country estate, Dunborough.  She would be taught by the finest tutors in everything from scholastics to comportment.  She needed to learn everything, and during this time, Ma and Da came up with a whole new identity for her—the long lost niece of some obscure line of the peerage."

"To avoid scandal?"

"Scandal was a very big deal in those days."

A sardonic little smile surfaced on his features, and Ashur nodded.  "It still is in some circles."

"True enough," she allowed.  "That girl . . . She was the absolute bane of my mother's existence: always running off here or there with the attention span of a humming bird.  When Niall found her, she was fifteen years old—"

"Fifteen?  Isn't that a bit young to find one's mate?"

Nora laughed softly. "Niall was nearly a hundred at the time.  He said that he knew her soul.  At first, when our parents tried to separate him from her, they realized that he was speaking truth, that he started to wither.  Kern Daugherty wasn't a fool, though.  He demanded a king's ransom for his daughter, and my parents had no choice but to accept it and pay it."

"They bought her?"

"Quite so, and ma, being the . . . harridan . . . that she was reminded Orlaith of it every chance she got.  Bought and paid for, she told her, especially when Orlaith managed to creep out of her lessons to chase birds and badgers and stoat.  Tearing her dresses in climbing trees, ruining her stockings and shoes, wading in the streams and river, coming home with leaves and twigs, tangled in her golden hair, and never, ever looking quite as happy as she did on days like those . . . I wonder now how much of that was Orlaith's way of trying to rebel . . ."

"She doesn't sound like the mother that Jessa's talked about."

"She wasn't," Nora said simply.  "That's the point.  When she turned eighteen, Ma and Da told her that she could not— _could not_ —become Niall's mate.  They were set to send her home, mate or not, to demand that her family return the exorbitant bride price they'd paid.  To this day, I really don't know if it was a bluff or not . . . They said she was unacceptable, that she balked at her lessons and bit the hands that fed her, clothed her, and I think it was at that point that Orlaith started to understand—started to realize that if she ever wanted to be with her mate that she had no choice but to yield.  It was almost like a light bulb being turned on in the dark.  The change in her was . . . shocking, actually.  She stopped trying to escape, stopped avoiding her lessons.  She learned so fast that it was unsettling, and not simply scholastics.  Sewing, harpsichord, dancing, manners . . . It was so drastic, in fact, that she was finally allowed to marry Niall on the eve of her twentieth birthday.  But the thing was, she . . . She wasn't Orli any longer.  She was Lady Orlaith O'Shea, with never a hair out of place, always turned out in the most gorgeous of dresses, always the embodiment of perfection and poise, grace and beauty, but as beautiful as she was, something in her was lost, too . . ."

"That . . . seems sad . . ." he murmured, scowling as he turned the bottle of water in his hands.  Some of it was starting to come into focus, and yet, the questions that he had were still there, too.

Nora sat back, her expression taking on just a hint of sadness, but it was a sadness that had been tempered with time.  As though she were simply looking back, remembering something she wished she could change, even if the possibility didn't exist, yet that hope remained . . . "Jessa was born a couple of hundreds of years after our parents died.  They were sailing to Spain for a holiday, and the boat sank during a skirmish with pirates.  By the time she was born, I had moved in as the housekeeper.  Orlaith couldn't stand it—hated the idea that her sister-in-law was working at all, like it was a personal slight against her, and she refused to tell Jessa just who I really was. Actually, I'm quite sure that Jessa has no idea that her mother started out as nothing more than the smithy's daughter . . . As for me, I didn't care that much.  I still got to be near her, got to watch her grow, and that was enough.  Jessa, you understand, was such a good baby.  She rarely cried, smiled so much.  Her first word was, 'Da', of course—Niall doted upon her.  It wasn't really until she was just over a year old that . . . everything started to change."

Rising from the sofa, Ashur wandered over, poured a glass of wine that he handed to Nora.  The expression on her face, the sadness that was coming on faster . . . He thought that she might need it, and she accepted the glass with a wan smile.  Then he grabbed the bottle, set it on the table next to her, and returned to the sofa without a word.

Swirling the wine in the glass, she stared into the ebbing liquid.  She sipped it a few times before wrapping her hands around it, the flame of her hair catching the light of the sunshine that filtered through the windows.  "Jessa's hair has always been glorious . . . that stunning, rich shade, those impossible curls . . . with her pale skin and those eyes—those long, thick eyelashes—beautiful didn't even begin to describe her.  She was, to her mother, a living, breathing doll, and, true to form, she was always dressed immaculately—lace and ribbons and frills and yards and yards of silks and satins and velvets . . . but as she got older, as her true self started to emerge, Orlaith . . . Perhaps it's better to say that, from the day that Jessa learned how to walk, how to run, she was constantly in motion.  She didn't want to sit quietly and read books or work at embroidery.  She never wanted to sit through lessons, never was content to stay in one place.  Eluding her nanny, skipping off to the barn to climb into the stalls with the horses, to nap on their straw beds . . . She loved to climb trees, wandered the fields, picking flowers for her mother—flowers that Orlaith always threw out.  Why pick wildflowers when you could lift a phone and call a florist?  But still, Jessa would come home with grass-stained dresses, with rips and tears or stinking of the stable . . . with grass in her tangled hair, and always, Orlaith would scold her, fuss at her, saying the same things to Jessa that Ma used to say to her . . ."

"God . . ."

Nora nodded slowly, sipping the wine again, and this time, her hands were shaking just the tiniest bit.  "So many times, that child would seek me out, would hide where ever I happened to be.  The nannies never saw anything in Jessa other than a paycheck.  They didn't have time to fuss with hair that was so fine, it tangled entirely too easily.  They didn't have the patience to figure out ways to interest Jessa in the things they wanted her to do and instead would chastise her for wanting to explore on her own, as any inquisitive child would, and all the while, I'd hear Orlaith say to her, 'Stop fussing, Jessa!  The world never feels sympathy for a lady.  We are the elite, you understand?  We are above those commoners, and one day, you'll be Marchioness of Dunborough.  Smile, Jessa, and keep your complaints to yourself'."

He grimaced, the chilling memory of the viciousness with which she'd bitten back her tears just yesterday flickered through his head, and he'd wondered then, just how she'd learned to do that . . .

"When she was five, Orlaith decided that she was old enough, that she was ready to start taking lessons: dance lessons of every kind you could think of, piano lessons, art lessons, comportment . . . and Jessa begged so desperately to take equestrian lessons, too.  She'd promised that she would be better behaved if she could just take those equestrian lessons, and Niall, of course, allowed it.  Jessa was so excited at first.  She thought that she might make some friends, but most of the other girls in the classes weren't of the peerage, and they did what little girls do.  Boys, as you know . . . They're different.  If they have an issue, they argue and fuss, and sometimes they'll fight it out.  Ten minutes later, they're right as rain.  Sometimes, they even become friends.  Little girls . . . aren't like that.  If they perceive that someone or something is a threat, they turn on them, but not like boys do.  They start picking and needling, finding things that hurt, and Jessa . . . She was a stunning little girl, and those other little girls . . . They were cruel.  So often, she'd come in from her lessons, eyes red-rimmed, nose pinked . . . Orlaith would ask her what was wrong, and when Jessa told her that they'd made fun of her, called her names like Raggedy Ann—you know, that doll?"

Ashur nodded, jaw tightening as that echoed in his head, words spoken by other people and in the same hurtful way . . .

"Bozo was a big one—Little Orphan Annie . . . Merida . . . Orlaith would look so sad for a moment, and then she'd remind Jessa that she was a lady, and ladies do not cry over that sort of thing.  They hold their head high and they smile because, what do a bunch of commoners really know?  And Jessa . . . She tried.  She tried so hard, but then she'd have a particularly rough day, and she'd sneak out to play or to just be alone, and she'd come home, windblown and rosy cheeked with sparkling eyes and a ready smile, only to be scolded because her hair was a mess or her dress was torn . . . When she would tell her da that the nanny hurt her, pulling on her hair, yanking so hard that her neck hurt, he would get rid of the nanny, of course, but it didn't ever matter.  They were always the same, and how many times did I answer calls to sweep that child's hair off the floor when they finally got tired of trying to comb it?  Orlaith would take the scissors and lop it off and say, 'Don't cry, Jessa!  It's only hair!  It'll be back by morn, and maybe you'll think twice the next time you want to sneak away without permission . . .'"

"Her . . . _mother_ . . . cut her hair off?"

"It was easier than brushing it—and it was easier on Jessa, too, maybe . . ."

Tightening his fist so hard that he felt his claws puncture his own flesh, he gritted his teeth, tried to control the surging anger, the frothing rage. That her own mother would . . .? He . . . He couldn't quite wrap his brain around it . . . "The hell . . ."

"On Jessa's sixth birthday, she asked Orlaith if she could have a party.  She was so excited, and Orlaith was happy to finally be able to plan something for Jessa that the girl wanted.  In a way, I think that she was weary of always telling Jessa no, of always having to correct her for her behavior that was perfectly normal in anyone else's opinions.  So, Orlaith planned and poured over this perfect party, and when the day came, Jessa was dressed and ready well before noon when the party wasn't to start until two.  All the little girls from her dance classes came—thirty little girls, all dressed in their very best dresses, a riot of hair ribbons and curls, of the click of shiny Mary Janes on the marble floors.  A huge cake in pink frosting with six silver candles on it and stacks of presents, all waiting to be unwrapped. . . The girls exchanged stickers from their sticker albums, played with Jessa's collection of beautiful porcelain dolls from all over the world, played Duck, Duck, Goose in the middle of the ballroom . . . But when it came time to open those presents, you could see that happiness in her die just a little at a time with every gift she unwrapped.  Every last one of those nasty little brats gave her a Raggedy Ann doll—all of them."

"Damn . . ." he muttered, grinding his teeth together so hard that his jaw ached from the pressure, a sickened feeling erupting in the pit of his stomach.  In his mind's eye, he could see it: the tiny girl, Jessa, all decked out in a frilly white dress with ribbons in her hair and such a brilliant smile on her face . . .

"Orlaith reminded her not to cry, made her stand at the door to kiss each of those hateful little girls goodbye, to _thank_ them for the gifts.  She cried herself to sleep that night, and she never, ever wanted a birthday party again, but it was that fiasco that gave Orlaith her next idea.  She ordered the nanny to use a black hair rinse on Jessa every morning to cover over her red hair, and then Orlaith herself would sit down, straightening her hair with a flat iron.  If Niall saw it, he'd lay a hand on Jessa's head to burn off the color, and the warmth of his flames undid all the work of the straightening iron.  Orlaith told him that it was for Jessa's own good—better to have sleek and beautifully glossy black locks . . . Who could make fun of that?"

He winced.  "That's why . . ." he murmured as so many isolated moments shifted through his head: things that hadn't made sense entirely, and now, they did.  Her own misgivings, how much she hated her hair . . . Her willingness to simply chop off those locks that he loved so much, her inability to understand just why it would bother him . . . and yet, there was something else, too—another realization . . . Just how much damage could a lifetime of that really impact her?  From the constant berating of her own mother, the harassment from other children . . . and something else—something that Nora hadn't said . . . "She . . . She never had any friends, did she?"

"Friends?  Goodness, no!  Who would dare to try to befriend the Lady O'Shea's daughter?  With as much as Orlaith fussed over Jessa's appearance, well . . . She fussed over other little girls just as much, too.  No little girls from the village were ever good enough—too rough, to uncultured—not the kinds of girls you want around someone like Jessa . . ." The sarcasm in her tone was a understated.  It was still there, all the same.  "Even the girls that she had at her birthday party—the local girls who also attended her dance classes . . . None of them were her friends, either, quite obviously . . . and I don't think she made any when she was sent away to boarding school.  That's not surprising.  The girls at those schools were more her peers.  Most of them had also been raised in much the same way as Jessa—snarky little rich bitches, the lot of them . . . Jealous of Jessa's looks or her intelligence . . . Maybe they hated that they couldn't rattle her, couldn't shake her.  After all, Jessa had been taught by the greatest pretender alive, hadn't she?"

"I . . . I don't . . . understand . . . how she could do that—how she _would_ do that to her own daughter . . ."

Nora sighed.  It was a quiet, understated thing—and there was something all the more horrifying about it, too. "If I heard it once, I heard it a thousand times . . . 'Stop fussing, Jessa!  Be glad of what you're given, and don't ask for more' . . . 'Suck it up, girl!  There's no need for tears over something so trivial' . . . 'Don't ask questions, Jessa!  A lady need only to accept what she's told.  Curiosity is an ugly thing, so best you learn to bury it now' . . . 'Oh, Jessa!  That ungodly hair of yours . . . What young man is going to want a wife whose hair can't ever be tamed?' . . .'Look at you!  You look like a ghost!  Pinch your cheeks at least . . . You're white as a sheet' . . . On and on and on . . . and not once, mind, but over and over again—time and time again—until she understood it.  Until it . . . it all became who she is . . ."

He rubbed his forehead, willing back the anger—anger directed at someone who was long gone—a futile anger that wasn't nearly as easy to accept.  "And that's why . . . why she can't see . . ."

Nora smiled, just a little, her gaze clearing a she met Ashur's eyes, as that smile widened by degrees.  "I never wanted to see her marry into the peerage," she admitted.  "Never wanted her to find a mate whose family would quell what was left of that little girl."  Sitting back, she sipped the wine before setting the glass aside.  "You . . . You're not the kind to do that, are you?  You're the kind who wants her to step outside that little box she's existed in for far too long . . . You . . . You want to see her shine because you . . . you want to know who she really is, don't you?"  She laughed suddenly—a very pleasant sound, punctuated by the ticking of the clock on the mantle, by the thunder of his own blood, surging through his veins, as he struggled to rein in his emotions.  "You don't have to answer that, Ashur.  I see it in your eyes.  I've seen the way you look at my girl, the way you shelter and protect her.  Now, you just have to figure out how to make her see it, too, because . . . Because there are things  you still don't know—things Jessa doesn't know—things Orlaith—that Niall—never knew . . ."

"Like . . . what?"

Nora smiled.  "Things . . . Things that might be important someday . . . but for now . . ."

"Hmm?"

She chuckled.  "You've got twenty minutes to pick up Master Kells from preschool."

"Damn it," he growled shooting out of the sofa and striding for the door.  Pausing with his hand on the door handle, he looked back at the housekeeper.  "Nora . . ."

"Aye?"

Despite the weight of the information he'd just had piled on him, he smiled.  "Thank you."

She smiled back, and she slowly nodded as he slipped outside and hurried over to the car.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** oblivion-bringr ——— M
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda+Gauger ——— Monsterkittie ——— patalaxe ——— minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— Crow ——— cutechick18
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
> … _I need a drink_ …


	69. Reevaluation

Stepping off the bottom of the staircase, her feet whispering against the floor, Jessa bit her lip as she ran the long tail of hair through her hands in an idle kind of way, staring at the short hallway that led to Ashur's office.

He'd retired in there after dinner to look at a few files, he'd said.  She'd just finished tucking in Kells, reading him a bedtime story, and then, taking a long, leisurely shower.  Then she'd grabbed her hair brush—it was stuffed into the pocket of the bathrobe—but she'd spotted the long tail of hair that she'd left on his pillow the day she'd left.  He had it sitting on his nightstand, and she'd wrinkled her nose when she picked it up.  Why he was keeping it was a little strange, or maybe he simply hadn't thought to throw it away yet.  Either way, she was back, and she wasn't going anywhere, so he really didn't need it now . . .

She started toward the kitchen to throw it away, but pivoted on her heel, padding down the short hall to stand in the open doorway of his office where she leaned against the frame, still pulling the long tail of hair through her hand, over and over again, a small smile surfacing as she watched him, frowning so seriously at the smallish black plastic folder—he'd called it a slim-file—he held.

She cleared her throat after a minute, just loud enough to draw his attention.  He glanced up at her, only to do a double-take, his lips turning up as just a hint of a smile appeared.  "I like the turban," he remarked, settling back in his chair as he closed the file and set it aside.

Giggling softly, she held onto the ribbon around the tail of hair and flipped her wrist, sending the tail flying back and forth.  "Well, if you're not busy, I thought you said you wanted to brush my hair out for me," she reminded him, biting her lip as a strange sense of nervousness erupted in her stomach.  She supposed it couldn't be helped.  After all, what if he were just placating her at the time—telling her something that sounded nice, even if he really hadn't meant it at all . . .?

He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers to draw her closer.

Pushing away from the doorway, she dug the brush out of her pocket.  "You . . . You don't have to if you don't want to," she said, casting him what could only be described as an apologetic sort of look.

"Because you think I only said that to be nice?" he concluded.  He reached for her hand, pulled her gently into his lap as he scooted the chair back from the desk.  Settling her sideways, he took the brush and gently tugged the towel from her hair, letting the riot of tangled and dampened locks fall free.

"I've never met a soul who actually wanted to deal with this mess," she admitted with a little shrug as he carefully worked the snarls out of her hair.  "Ma used to have my nanny braid my hair every night, but it always worked itself loose, ended up a worse mess, come morn . . ."

He snorted.  "I'm not nearly so benevolent that I'd bother to lie to you, Jessa.  Lies have a way of coming back to bite you, so if I tell you something, then you should just believe it, all right?"

She nodded, a vague frown drawing her brows together as she stiffened a little at the censure in his tone.  "I . . . I wasn't trying to question you.  I just . . ."

He sighed.  "You just don't believe anyone who ever compliments you, do you?" he asked quietly.

"I-It's no' tha . . ."

"Hmm . . . Then why are you slipping into your brogue, _Amaterasu?_ " he countered gently.

"You're a strange man, Ashur Philips," she tried to tease, flicking him with the tail in her hand as she tried to steer the conversation away from the current topic.

"And what are you doing with that?" he asked, gathering her hair over her shoulders, dragging the brush through it in a slow, almost languorous pull.

"This?  Oh, I was going to throw it away.  I mean, I'm back now, so you don't need it, and—"

"Yeah, no, you're not," he said, neatly grabbing it out of her slack hand.  "It's mine, remember?  You left it for me."

"It's . . . It's just hair," she pointed out with a frown.  "Why ever would you want to keep it, in the first place?"

"It's not just hair," he told her.  "It's _your_ hair, and I know I've told you before that I . . . I love your hair—everything _about_ your hair.  What I don't like is when you belittle your . . . _hair_ . . . when you think your _hair_ is less than what it is."

She turned just far enough to cast him a confused little look since she knew well enough that he wasn't talking just about her hair. But she wasn't entirely sure what he was talking about, instead . . . "I still don't see why you want _this_ hair—" She grabbed at the tail in his hand but missed when he pulled his hand back.  "—when you have _this_ hair," she said, shaking her head at him to emphasize her point.

"It all came from you, and even then, it was a gift—a _gift_.  You can't take back a gift once you give it."  That said, he leaned to the side, yanking open one of the drawers where he stashed the hair in question and slammed the drawer closed again.  She heard a very distinct click as a lock snapped into place, and she rolled her eyes.

"You're acting strange," she pointed out.  Suddenly she frowned.  "Speaking of strange . . . Did you notice how quiet Kells was over dinner?"

"Kells?"  Ashur considered her question, but shrugged.  "Maybe he's just tired."

She bit her lip.  "Ma-a-aybe," she allowed slowly, dragging out the word as she considered it.  She couldn't keep the hint of doubt out of her tone, though.  "When I asked him how school was today, he didn't really answer me . . ."

Stroking her hair, he pulled her a little closer against him, his hands idly rubbing her hip through the rough fabric of the thick bathrobe.  "His teacher didn't mention anything when I picked him up."

She frowned.  "Maybe I'm just reading too much into it," she ventured.  "It's just . . . Kids are cruel, and he's so small . . ."

"I'll talk to his teacher tomorrow when I drop him off, see if anything's going on.  Okay?"  She heard the hint of tolerance in his tone, like he was simply humoring her and very little more, and he kissed her temple.

She nodded and started to stand up.  His arms slipped around her waist, holding her still.  She managed a wan smile, despite the misgivings in her head.  "Aren't you busy?  You seemed to be when I interrupted . . ."

"Nothing that can't wait," he told her.  "If you're ready for bed . . ."

"Not yet," she replied, pulling his hands apart so that she could stand up.  "I'll get you a drink, if you'd like."

"All right."

She slipped out of the office and sighed.  Sure, she could understand why Ashur wasn't ready to think that something might be wrong with Kells.  Jessa, on the other hand . . . She couldn't quite shake the expression on the boy's face, the sense of sadness, almost dread . . . She knew that look just a little too well, didn't she?  Knew it because she'd lived with it, too . . . When the girls had first started teasing her . . .

The trouble was, if Kells didn't want to talk about it, she certainly couldn't make him, and, in the event that she was entirely wrong, she didn't want to upset him, either . . .

Taking her time in pouring Ashur a glass of cognac, along with a glass of wine for herself, Jessa sighed, pausing long enough to push her hair back out of her face before retrieving both glasses and heading back to Ashur's office once more.

She paused in the doorway, frowning when she noticed that he'd retrieved the ribbon-tied bundle of hair from the drawer, but what stilled her, stopped her, was the way he was looking at it.  There was a quietness about him: a calm that she wasn't sure she understood.  It was almost as though just looking at it was lending him some sort of peace, but that . . . That couldn't be, could it . . .?  It was just . . . just hair . . . really horrible, ungodly laughable hair . . .

' _Except . . . Except he doesn't think that at all, now does he?_ '

' _Oh, it's you.  I thought you weren't going to talk to me anymore . . ._ '

' _Well, I'm stuck with you, and I'm a little bored.  Anyway, I think it's darling._ '

Biting her lip as she let her temple fall against the doorframe, she tried to make sense of it.  ' _What?  That he's staring at my hair, of all things?_ '

Her  youkai-voice sighed.  ' _You know, right, that your darling ma really didn't do you any favors. Drilling all of her nonsense into your head . . . Maybe she had noble intentions, maybe she didn't, but you know, all of those things weren't natural.  Think about it, won't you?  In the length of time that you've known him, have you ever, ever, even once,_ ever _heard Ashur tell Kells anything even remotely like the things you were raised to hear?  No, you haven't, and do you know why?  Because that man—_ that man _—understands pain.  He understands it because he's lived it, and he refuses to allow Kells to live it, too . . . Your mother, God rest her . . . She loved you; of course, she did.  But she did you more harm than good in those things that she said, over and over again._ '

' _Ma . . . She only wanted what was best for me,_ ' Jessa argued.  ' _She—_ '

' _That may be so, but it doesn't change the facts, Jessa.  Her concern for you . . . It wasn't natural, wasn't normal, and because of that you cannot see what's directly in front of you, do you know?_ '

' _And . . . And just what is that?_ '

' _I could tell you, but I won't.  Lass, talk to your mate.  Ask him those things that you can't bear to say out loud—those things that you want to know, but you hear your mother's voice, stopping you, every time.  Just ask him because he's right.  He doesn't lie to you.  He never has._ '

' _He . . . He never has . . ._ '

Blinking quickly as her youkai-voice faded, Jessa watched as Ashur brought the ponytail to his nose, rubbed it against his cheek, his eyes taking on an incandescent sort of glow.  As she watched him, that uncomfortable sort of self-consciousness seemed to fade.  It didn't disappear entirely, no, but it didn't make her want to turn away.

' _He . . . He really doesn't . . . hate it . . ._ '

"I was just putting things away," he said suddenly though he had yet to meet her gaze, breaking the silence as he stuck the hair in the drawer again and touched the lock to secure it.  Then he stood up, wandering over to her to shut the lights off before reaching for his drink.  "Thank you."

She led the way through the house, upstairs, only to pause at Kells' door, peeking inside with a smile.  He was sleeping soundly, and she handed him her glass so that she could pull the blankets up to his chin and kiss him on the forehead.  Ruffling his hair, she lingered another long moment before turning away and slipping back out of his room with a sigh.  "That child . . ."

Handing her back her glass, Ashur slipped his arm around her waist to lead her toward their room.  "You . . . You . . . love him, don't you?"

"Of course, I do," she replied.  "How could anyone not love him?"

"Maybe, but there are times—Christmas, for example—when I wished that people didn't love him quite so much . . ."

Rolling her eyes at his dry statement, she sipped the wine and set the glass aside, wandering around the room in a restless kind of way.  Stepping over to the French doors, she pulled them open, stepped outside into the brisk night air, drawing in deep breaths, letting the clean, fresh wash of it strip away the lingering doubts, the insecurities that seemed to follow her around.

"So, how did your luncheon go?" Ashur asked, following her onto the balcony.  "I meant to ask earlier . . ."

Jessa flicked a hand, igniting small orbs of fire along the perimeter of the wall.  "It was good," she told him, casting him an uncertain little smile.  "It was actually really . . . I like her—Clementine.  I told her that I didn't know if I could accept her offer to join the board of directors.  I don't know much about theatre, but she is absolutely the sweetest woman . . ."

"Whatever you want to do, Jessa," he told her, slipping his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest.  He'd taken off his shirt already, and the warmth of his skin was inviting . . . "The other ladies . . . They were nice to you?"

She nodded, wrapping her hands over his forearms.  "They were."

"Good."

They fell silent for awhile, both of them lost in their own thoughts, she supposed.  It wasn't an uncomfortable thing, though.  Pondering the advice her youkai had given her, even if she hadn't wanted it, she wasn't entirely sure just what to do about it.  It was one thing for her youkai to tell her to ask those questions.  It was another thing entirely for her to be able to do it, and even if she could, was it true?  All those things her mother had always said to her from a time that she couldn't even remember, how in the world was she supposed to ignore it all?

"Jessa?"

"Hmm?"

Ashur sighed, leading her back inside, closing the doors behind them.  "Do you still think that my taking you as my mate was an accident?"

Her back stiffened.  She could feel it.  Wrapping her arms over her stomach, she shuffled over to retrieve her glass of wine.  "W-Was it?" she forced herself to ask, her voice, barely above a whisper.

She heard him sigh, heard him as he removed his pants, as he sat on the bed.  "Will you come here?" he asked.

She downed the wine before slowly turning to face him, unable to control the blush that shot to the fore when she realized that he was naked, settled back on the bed against his pillows, holding a hand out to her, beckoning her to join him.  Slowly, hesitantly, she slipped her hand into his, allowed him to tug her down against him, nestled in the crook of his arm, her cheek against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her.  "To answer your question, there wasn't a condom, so it didn't rip.  There was no accident.  I knew what I was doing, and I . . . I thought you wanted it, too . . ."

"O-Oh," she breathed, unsure why his confession didn't surprise her as much as it should have.  She'd thought that it was an accident, hadn't she?  But if she'd believed that— _truly_ believed that . . . Maybe . . . Maybe some small part of her knew, had always known . . . and maybe . . .

"Are you—?  I mean, you don't . . .?" He uttered a terse growl.  "You're . . . okay . . . with it?  I should have talked it over with you. I know.  I get it.  It was . . . was a high-handed thing to do, and I'm sorry, but I'm not sorry that I claimed you.  Jessa . . . I know that you're my mate.  I know it, and if . . . if I know it, then . . . Then don't you . . .?"

"I . . ." Trailing off, she bit her lip, shook her head, struggling to gather her scattered courage. She could feel it, couldn’t she?  The weight of her answer . . . She hated the feeling of vulnerability, as though the truth of what she needed to say had the power to leave her exposed, naked . . . "I . . . I don't know," she murmured, grimacing as he tensed, as his youki surged.  "I . . . _want_ you to be . . ."

The tension in him seemed to drain away in the space of a breath, a blink of an eye.  Arms tightening around her, he kissed her temple, pulled her a little closer.  "Thank God," he muttered, sounding more relieved than Jessa could credit.  "Thank God . . ."

"Ashur?"

"Hmm?"

"You . . . You're squishing me . . ."

Immediately, his arms loosened, but not enough to let her scoot away, either, and she smiled to herself, slipping her bent knee over his legs, rubbing her foot against him in a slow, lethargic kind of way.  "I'll . . . I'll do my best to be a good mate," she told him.

He chuckled.  "Just be yourself, Jessa.  That's all I've ever wanted.  That and . . . I want you to talk to me.  I want you to tell me things, even if you think I won't like it.  I want you to know that you can ask me anything— _anything_ —no matter what.  You . . . You have that right."

"So . . . I can ask you . . . anything . . .?" she mused.

"Yes.  For example, if you want to use my body, all you have to do is ask.  I . . . I'd let you, you know.  I mean, it might be a bit of a stretch, but if it's for you . . ."

She giggled, but gave him a playful little shove despite the blush that exploded under her skin.  "I'm not asking that!"

He heaved a sigh.  "Are you sure?  I mean, I don't think I'd mind it if you did . . ."

She buried her face against his chest for a moment, then leaned up suddenly to look at him as a sudden thought came to her.  "Will you make me more flowers?"

He blinked, craned his neck to look down at her.  "Right now?"

"Well, not right now . . . Maybe tomorrow?"

He smiled.  "If that's what you want," he told her.  "Right now, though . . ."

She sighed when he rolled onto his side, his lips finding hers as the gentle wash of his youki surrounded her, held her close.  Kissing every inch of her face, stroking her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, he took his time, his every move, his every touch, full of such tenderness, such an underlying sweetness, that it brought tears to Jessa's eyes.

He leaned back, scowling down at her as he wiped the tears off her cheeks, as he slowly shook his head.  "Jessa?  Why . . .?"

She shook her head, choked out a half-sob, half-laugh.  "I'm happy," she admitted quietly.

He sighed, stroking her jaw with the back of his knuckles.  "Good.  I intend to keep you that way."

Turning her face toward his hand, she closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the feel of his touch.  He was trying to be affectionate, sweet, and she knew that, but even that was enough to set off a chain reaction, an influx of desire so strong, so fierce, that it made her shiver.  Letting  his hand fall away, he untied the feminine bow of her robe, slipped it off her shoulders as she pulled her arms free.  She reached out to him, but he caught her hand, kissed the bend of her wrist, dragging his fangs along the sensitive flesh of her inner arm with maddening lethargy, then kissed his way up her arm, his breath rippling over her like a heady caress.  Nibbling her shoulder, the balm of his tongue flicked out against her collar bone, she trembled as a rampant burn swept through her—fierce, unyielding—entirely at odds with the flutter of his lips against her.

There was a nuance in his every move, an underlying wonder in him as he explored her skin.  As though he were trying to tell her just how precious she was to him, the understanding left her reeling, breathless.  She could feel his unspoken affection, something that transcended the physical.  It was a slow understanding, more of a whisper of truth in the air.  It was one of the first times in her life that she truly felt beautiful, and that feeling . . .

Sighing against her skin, the warmth of his breath, condensing like the morning dew, that soft blanket of diamonds that sparkled and shimmered in those moments, those vague and fleeting moments, when the morning sun kissed them, as close as a lover . . .

Lifting her body, seeking the repletion that he could give her, she uttered a plaintive little moan.  Every part of her felt as though it was winding tighter and tighter, a configuration of want and need.  He soothed her with the softest kisses, with strokes of his fingertips over the crazy burn that he'd built.  Running her fingers up and down his back, she tossed and writhed under him, against him, only to be shushed like a child, his finger against her lips.  "Let me," he said, his voice ragged, almost harsh.

Dragging his chest over hers, his body moving in a fluid stroke, he groaned softly, his body trembling under the strain as he willed himself to slow down.  She gasped, the tease of contact delicious and yet, entirely frustrating, at the same time.  The velvet of his skin, the delirious friction, the rub against her hardened nipples as she arched her back, as she let her head fall against the pillows while shockwave after tactile shockwave rattled through her.  It was torture, pure and simple.  The instinct of her body was overrode by his control, both as beautiful as it was maddening, as brilliant as the afternoon sun, as wanton as a brushfire burning out of control . . .

"I want you, Jessa," he murmured, kissing her lips once more, teasing her softly, his words slamming through her.  "God, I want you . . ."

She reached down, grasped him firmly in her hand, in silent answer, lifting her hips as she pulled him down, as he slid into her with a delicious fluidity.  He shuddered, groaned, his kiss deepening, searching her, savoring her, as he ground his hips against her.  Hands slipping up over his sides, his arms, she sank her fingers deep in his hair as he pulsated deep inside her, as he twitched and jerked, his breath stuttering, reaching . . .

He pushed himself up, grasping her legs, settling them over his shoulders before crashing down on her again, thrusting deep as she squeaked out a sharp moan.  The incredible fullness, the welcome pressure that built and built within her, tightened around that central ache, the sweetest torment that bordered so closely on pleasure, but wasn't quite there . . . She felt him as he thickened, as he quaked.  One more thrust snapped the last strand that held her, plunging her deep, lifting her high as the burning gush of his orgasm fueled hers, sending her even higher, her youki spiraling out of control as the edges of his caught her, carried her, protected her, as she drifted back down to him once more.

The sound of their labored breathing echoed in the silence.  After what seemed like forever, Jessa finally opened her eyes.  Curled against Ashur, halfway sprawled on him, halfway curled against his side, she laughed suddenly as he slowly opened his eyes.  She kissed him as he tangled his hands in the length of her hair.  "Tired, Jessa?" he asked, kissing her forehead when she snuggled back down again.

"No," she said, which might have been far more effective if she didn't yawn right afterward.

He chuckled and gave her a little squeeze, turning just enough to wrap himself around her.  "Go to sleep before I change my mind," he warned her.

She didn't know if she managed to answer him or not.  The last thing she felt as she let her eyes drift closed, as the welcoming invitation of sleep called to her as though from somewhere far away, was the idle and soothing stroke of his hand in her hair, of his lips as he kissed her forehead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** M
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Monsterkittie ——— minthegreen ——— patalaxe
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** lianned88 ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _Ask him anything_ …?


	70. Cracking

The sound of a door slamming open resounded in the otherwise quiet as Ashur grunted and Jessa groaned, burrowing closer to him as she tried to block out the sound.

"It's official.  Laith's crazy.  I don't mean a little crazy—you know, the kind of cute crazy—the-little-old-lady-with-eighty-cats, aww-isn't-that-cute-crazy, either.  Nope, I mean the full-on, in your face, call-the-paddy-wagon-to-come-pick-up-the-loony-crazy kind of crazy!"

Jessa rolled over, rubbing her eyes with a balled-up fist as she blinked and tried to focus on Carol, who had burst right into their bedroom without knocking and without bothering to wait.  "C-Carol . . .?"

Carol snorted, crossing her arms over her chest as she scowled at Jessa seconds before her eyes flicked over her and onto Ashur.

"Uh, Carol . . ." Ashur began in a warning tone.  "You do realize—"

"—That you're naked?  Yeah, I don't care," she grumbled, rolling her hand as though to move him along.  "Move it, will you? This is an emergency!"

Jessa turned her head, raised her eyebrows in a 'what can you do' type of way.

Ashur still didn't look very impressed as he rolled off the bed and strode off toward the bathroom without bothering to grab a blanket or anything, which might have amused Jessa if Carol weren't already on the verge of complete and utter meltdown.

As soon as Asher stood up, Carol crawled up onto the bed, immediately slipping her arms around Jessa, who sighed and said nothing as she stroke Carol's hair and gave her shoulders a squeeze.  "What happened?"

Carol grunted, burying her face against Jessa's chest for a moment.  "He's lost his mind; that's all," she complained, leaning back just far enough to frown at Jessa.  "One minute, we're cuddling, just enjoying the morning before he has to get up and check on the horses, and the next, he's yammering on about—about this thing: you—youkra or whatever, telling me that he's not human!  He's _insane!  Completely_ insane, and okay, sure, he has these . . . these claws and fangs and his pupils are weird, but—"

"Oh, he finally got around to telling you, did he?"

Carol snorted.  "Yeah, he did, which is entirely—Why the hell do you sound like it's normal or something, Jess?"

Jessa laughed and let go of her concealment.  Carol gasped and jerked away, pushing herself over to Ashur's side of the bed before she could reach out and grab her wrist to keep her from tumbling off the edge.  "I am, too," she said.  "Now, don't freak out, Carol.  We're just not allowed to tell humans about us, but since you're Laith's mate—"

She gasped, eyes flashing wide as she pointed a finger at Jessa.  "He said that, too!" she blurted.  "This is nuts!  There's no such thing as you-you-you—"

"Youkai?" Jessa supplied helpfully.

Carol snapped her fingers and nodded.  "Yes, that!  Thanks . . .You're one, too?"

Jessa pressed her lips together and nodded.

Carol sat up, burying her face in her hands with a loud groan.  "Okay, what did he give you to play along with it?  I'm going to _kill_ him the next time I see him . . ."

Jessa reached over to tug Carol's hands down.  "Oh, now, stop it. It's not the end of the world.  In fact, it's a very good thing, you know.  You're Laith's mate, and that means that you'll be able to live as long as he does, you ken?  Which means you won't grow old and die in your way!  It's brilliant!  Absolutely brilliant!"

"How do you figure?  Haven't you been listening?  He's insane— _completely_ insane—and you have fabulous boobs, Jess. I mean, seriously?  Those are the kind of boobs that girls go to surgeons to get."  Suddenly, she reached out and grabbed one of them and squeezed.  Jessa blinked, shocked by the gesture, and Carol giggled again as she let go.  "They're so squishy, like those little, fat silicon kitties that you could sit for hours, just squishing their bellies . . ."

Jessa rolled her eyes and reached for her robe.  "You've just veered completely off topic—and thank you.  I think . . ."

The bathroom door opened, and Ashur strode out of it with a fluffy towel tucked around his hips and his cell phone plastered to his ear as he narrowed his eyes on the women.  "On second thought, wait a couple minutes.  Jessa's still naked, and you don't get to see that," he said.  Then he lowered the cell phone and tossed it onto the dresser.  "Cover up, Jessa.  I just called Laith to come get her."

Jessa rolled her eyes but stood up, shaking out the robe.  Ashur stepped over and took it, holding it out for her.

"Wa-a-a-ait . . ." Carol drawled, narrowing her eyes on Ashur.  "You're going to say you're one of them, too, right?  One of those youkia or whatever . . ."

Ashur snorted.  "Yes, I'm a cell phone," he muttered.  "It's _youkai_ , Carol, and yes, I am one, too."

The stomping on the stairs and down the hallway drifted to them well before Laith appeared in the open doorway.  He shot Ashur and Jessa a rather apologetic look before striding over to the bed to grab Carol and tossed her over his shoulder, pretty much like a sack of horse feed.  "Sorry, Ash, Jessa," he said, slapping Carol's rear when she squirmed to get down, hollering a list of dire invectives that he summarily ignored.  "Sorry again."

They watched him leave, standing in complete silence, until the sound of the front door closing drifted up to them a minute later, cutting off Carol's continued diatribe in the process.

Ashur sighed.  "That . . . is going well, don't you think?" he finally asked, his tone drier than normal.

Jessa craned her neck to look up at her mate.  "She felt me up," she stated flatly.

Arching an eyebrow, he stared at her for a long minute.  ". . . Did you like it?"

"Ashur!" she exclaimed, cheeks pinking prettily as she quickly shook her head.

He chuckled.  "Jessa, I'm sorry, but that's the natural question when your mate says something like that."

She snorted and rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as her hair fell into her face.  "I really don't think—" She blew straight up, sending her bangs flying upward, but when she stopped, they fell right back into her eyes once more.  "—that _that's_ the natural question."

"Ask any man alive, and he'll tell you it is," he quipped.  "Unless he's gay . . . So . . .?"

She shook her head, shoving her hair back out of her face.  "So, what?"

He made a face.  "So, did you?"

"I can't believe you'd want to know something as perverted as that!  But . . . it wasn't . . . horrible—just a little shocking."

He laughed, ambling over to the closet to get dressed.  "Next time, get video," he called over his shoulder.

Jessa blushed a little darker and threw the closest thing she could find—her hairbrush—at the closet.  She missed.  He laughed more.

It just figured.

 

* * *

 

 

Kells knelt down, jamming his head between Ashur and the ground as he watched intently for the sand plants that Jessa had told him about on the way home from school.  She'd told him that Ashur had promised to make her more flowers, and it had interested Kells enough to break him out of his uncharacteristic silence of the last few days.

Ashur sighed and pulled his hand back.  "Kells, I know you want to watch, but you're going to be sorry if a stem ends up, gouging you in the eye, don't you think?"

The boy instantly sat back on his heels for a moment before leaning forward again, and Ashur shook his head.  Jessa giggled, tugging Kells back into her lap, and Ashur raised his hand once more, parallel to the earth.  The ground shifted just slightly as the first of the stems shot out of it, twisting and tangling in a beautifully intricate kind of dance as they wove together, as natural looking as a real rose bush.  The tangling vines rose high as Kells laughed and clapped his hands, eyes glowing as he watched with an awed sort of wonder as leaves uncurled, as buds appeared, fattened, only to burst open—the perfect dirt replica of the real thing.

A sudden thought occurred to him, and Ashur frowned as he concentrated.  It wasn't much different than the ability to shift the dirt into marble, but it took a slightly different focus.  It didn't happen instantly, though, but slowly, he could feel it—the change in the earth he'd used to create the bush.  Jessa gasped as the stems shifted from dark brown to green, the dirt pulling in tighter, shifting the state as it became jade.

"Wow," Kells breathed, mesmerized by the changing plant.  Still not living, no, but it looked so much more lifelike than the violets did . . .

Pulling his hand back for a moment, he flexed his fingers, drew a deep breath.  The blossoms were still made of dirt—he'd stopped the change just before the jade had stretched into them.  Shifting them a second time was probably possible, but, given that dirt itself was easier to manipulate, he didn't really know how difficult it would be.

Jessa turned a questioning look on him, and he smiled just a little as he stretched his hand out once more, willing the flowers to change, to become what he saw in his mind.  One of the smaller, more delicate blossoms groaned and quivered under the pressure he applied with his youki.  With a grimace, he eased off slightly, but not quite soon enough, as the bud exploded in a glittering whirl of dust.  Drawing a breath to steady himself, he refocused his youki, and this time, he could feel the changes, could better anticipate and control the outcome.  Very slowly, the flowers took on a reddish hue, as if they were coming back to life, and he heard Jessa's sharply indrawn breath as the individual petals shifted, emerging as beautifully polished rubies that glittered and sparkled in the afternoon sunshine.

"Wow, Daddy!" Kells exclaimed as Ashur lowered his hand with a heavy sigh.  "Can I do that, too?"

"Beautiful," Jessa breathed, reaching out to touch the hardened rosebush.

Rubbing his forehead as he knelt beside Jessa and Kells, he smiled wanly, steadying himself with one hand, his fingertips extended against the grass.  "You want to try it, Kells?  You may not be able to do a whole bush, but maybe you can do something . . . Come here . . ."

The boy scampered off of Jessa's lap and let himself be turned around and pulled back against his father's chest.  "Now, you remember your lessons?  How to extend your youki, how to focus it?"

Kells nodded.  "Yeah!"

"All right.  Before you try, you need to picture it in your mind, exactly what you want it to look like, but try to keep it simple, okay?"

Nodding again, Kells squeezed his eyes closed for a long moment.  Then he giggled.  "I got it, Daddy!" he insisted, eyes flashing open, excitement shining through.  "I'll make a flower for Jessa, too!"

Ashur intercepted the look Jessa shot him.  She seemed vastly amused by this idea, and yet, he could see the slight hint of worry behind those warm eyes of hers, too.  She was worried that, at Kells' age, he wouldn't be able to do it, and the look in her eyes . . . She was asking him to help him, wasn't she?

"All right, then.  Hold out your hand over the ground, let your youki flow into the ground until you can feel the earth—every last grain of dirt.  Take your time.  You don't have to hurry . . ."

Kells frowned in concentration, his eyes slipping closed again.  Suddenly, though, he laughed.  "It tickles!" he giggled.

Ashur smiled.  "I guess it kind of does," he allowed.  "Whenever you feel ready, just . . . visualize it in your mind: make the grains of dirt rise, make it do what you want it to do.  See it in your head, and it will obey you . . ."

Jessa sucked in a sharp breath as the dirt started to rise, started to pull together.  It was shaky and it was a little inconsistent, but it followed Kells' bidding, just the same.  Ashur's smile widened as the very small sunflower took shape, as it slowly burst open.  It wasn't perfect, and that was fine.  To be honest, he was surprised that Kells had managed it at all, and at three years old . . .?

But he could tell from the expression on the child's face that he'd about reached the limit of his ability.  Very quickly, Ashur sent out his youki to bolster Kells' creation, lest it should crumble back to dust when Kells withdrew his own youki.

"There you go, Jessa.  Do you want to keep it?" Ashur asked, already knowing her answer.

She nodded slowly, ever so slowly, her gaze fixed on the flower, unnatural brightness illuminating her gaze.  Opening her mouth, she squeaked out a sound, only to close it once more as she blinked quickly, as she reached over to pull Kells into a tight hug.

Ashur chuckled, shifting the dirt into marble—a very pretty marble with threads of blue that exactly matched Kells' eyes.  Then he reached out, plucked the sunflower, and handed it to Kells.  "Why don't you give it to her?" he suggested.

Kells took it with a very proud smile and handed it to Jessa with a flourish.  She sniffled.  "It's beautiful, Kells," she told him, her voice slightly roughened, her eyes misting with tears that didn't fall as  as she pulled him into another hug.

Ashur smiled, noting that Kells didn't seem to mind the overabundance of affection at all.  If he tried to get away with doing that to the child, he'd be complaining by now, but then, Kells really did adore Jessa, so maybe it was all right—at least, in his mind . . .

' _Yeah, well, I'd rather hug her, too, so it makes complete sense._ '

' _It does, doesn't it?_ '

His youkai sighed.  ' _She . . . She's done it, hasn't she?  She's given us back reason . . . A reason to smile, a reason to want to wake up . . . A reason to remember the beautiful things still left in this world . . ._ '

Jessa pulled Kells into her lap, snuggled the boy close as he inspected the marble sunflower with a sense of unmistakable pride on his face.  "And one day, I can make a dirt flower into rock, Daddy?"

Sinking down in the grass behind Jessa, he slipped his arms around them both.  "Sure.  Just keep working at it, and you'll get it, but you know, I wasn't able to do that much until I was a lot older than you, so be proud of what you did, Kells."

Kells thought it over and sat up a little straighter. "Daddy!  Can I send a picture to Uncle Ben and Auntie Chaiwwy?"

Digging his phone out of his pocket, he handed it over as Kells scrambled to his feet.  He fussed around with the phone for a few moments and finally managed to snap a picture of the flower in Jessa's hands.  A few moments more, and he handed the phone back with a high-pitched laugh.  "I can go play now, Daddy!"

To Ashur's surprised amusement, the boy leaned down, kissed Jessa on the cheek, before turning on his heel and speeding away though the grass.  "Don't go far!" she called after him.

"I won't!" he hollered back without stopping.

She sighed as she watched him go.  "I . . . I get so nervous when he runs off like that," she confessed quietly.  "What if . . .?  I mean, there's no one out there still, is there?  You . . . You took care of them all?"

"As far as I know," he admitted.  "I'm looking into hiring some people—putting up a proper fence around here, maybe hiring some security.  That doesn't bother you, does it?"

She peered up at him and slowly shook her head.  "No, I . . ." She sighed.  "If it would mean I can relax when he's out of my sight . . ."

"I should have been here at that time," Ashur told her, rubbing her arms as she leaned against him.  She shivered slightly, and he frowned.  It wasn't the first time he'd noticed how acutely the temperatures affected her, doubtless due to her affinity for fire.  He was very comfortable in the brisk but warm enough air of the September afternoon.  Around seventy degrees was definitely pleasant for him.  She, on the other hand, was wearing a sweater with the sleeves tugged down over the heels of her hands.  "Do you want to go inside?  Start a fire?"

She shot him a look, and he smiled.  "You . . . You want to go look for Kells, don't you?"

Staring at the marble sunflower, she bit her lip.  "I shouldn't, should I?  I mean, he . . . He needs to build his sense of independence, needs to learn that he can and should rely on himself in certain situations, and letting him explore in a careful and familiar environment is a good way for him to do that—that's what the books say, and—" Cutting herself off, she narrowed her gaze at him.  "And just what are you laughing about, Ashur Philips?"

Chuckling despite himself, Ashur shook his head.  "You sound like his mother," he replied.

"Well . . . is that . . . bad . . .?"

"Not at all," he replied, giving her another little squeeze.  "You've been reading books?"

She wrinkled her nose, apparently still a little irritated with him.  "That's how you learn things," she pointed out haughtily.

"Yes, and you also learn by doing," he said, kissing her cheek despite the prickle in her youki.  "Come on, then.  Let's go find him.  I could be an Indian, if he wants . . ."

 

* * *

 

 

Jessa hid behind a large rock, smiling to herself as Kells smashed his hands over his mouth to stifle his own giggles as they heard Ashur, wading through the tall grass nearby.  There wasn't a doubt in her mind that he knew exactly where they were, but he was making a good show of searching anyway.

"Daddy can't find us!" Kells whispered to her, eyes shining so brightly, his tiny body fairly shaking in the excitement of the moment.

She raised her index finger to her lips, indicating that he should be quiet as she leaned to the side, peering around the edge of the boulder as Ashur deliberately strolled in the opposite direction.  "Okay, go," she whispered to Kells, lifting him to his feet and pointing at the tree that had been deemed, 'home base'.

With a happy shriek, the boy took off at a dead sprint.  Ashur loped after him, not going nearly as fast as he could, even though he was managing to close in on Kells fast.

' _You know, I don't think that it's all just play,_ ' her youkai-voice murmured.

' _Ashur's not that slow,_ ' Jessa thought as she skirted around the boulder on her hands and knees, using his momentary distraction to her advantage.

' _You're right; he isn't.  I wonder, though, if what he did with that rose bush . . . I wonder if he didn't wear himself out a little._ '

She frowned as she considered that.  He didn't give any outward indication that he was tired, but then, he wouldn't, would he?

' _Maybe you should just baby him a little bit later on . . . Give him a back rub or something.  You remember what Kells said, don't you . . .?_ '

Gnawing on her bottom lip, she frowned.  Kells was surprised when the two of them had found him, when Ashur had asked Kells if they could play, too.  " _But you never play wif me, Daddy,_ " he'd said. " _You just watch me . . ._ "

Ashur had smiled—and yes, now that she thought about it, he had seemed a little weary around his eyes.  Then he'd taught Kells how to play tag, and now, they were playing hide and seek . . .

It was getting late, though.  They'd been running around the field for a few hours now, and they'd completely ignored the fact that dinner time had long since come and gone.  Kells, however, had seemed ridiculously happy at the idea of getting to play with both of them, and maybe Ashur hadn't had the heart to call an end to it for the day . . .

She smiled as the sound of Kells' laughter drifted to her.  He'd reached the tree, just ahead of Ashur, who grabbed the boy and tickled him without mercy.  Forgetting that she was supposed to be hiding somewhere, she sat, her smile widening as she watched the two.  Kells ducked away from Ashur, but turned and threw himself against his father's legs, his momentum enough to make Ashur stumble, and he fell back into the grass while Kells jumped on him, only to be caught and subjected to another round of tickling . . .

"Wow, you're hungry, aren't you?" Ashur asked him, sitting up and reaching over to ruffle Kells' hair.

"Yeah!" Kells hollered, ducking away from Ashur, just in case his father was set to tickle him yet again.  "My tummy's so hungry, it's angry!"

Ashur chuckled and rolled to his feet.  "Then we should probably go back and get something to eat, don't you think?"

Kells shook his head.  "But . . . But I wanna play with you more, Daddy . . ."

Scooping the boy off the ground, he settled him against his shoulder.  "We'll play again next weekend.  Is that okay?"

"You pwomise?" Kells demanded, sounding more than a little dubious.

Ashur laughed softly.  "I promise.  Now, where do you think Jessa's hiding?"

"She was behind that rock," Kells said, pointing at the old hiding place.

Ashur set Kells back on his feet.  "Why don't you go sniff her out?  You can smell her, can't you?"

She giggled when Kells lifted his face, sniffed the air so hard that she could hear him.   A moment later, he yelped and darted toward her, and she laughed as he threw himself against her.  "I found you, Jessa!" he exclaimed.  "An' Daddy said we can play again next weekend!"

"Well, then, I suppose we'll have to do that," she agreed, getting to her feet with marginal difficulty since she refused to put Kells down.

"I can take him," Ashur offered as he fell into step beside her.

"I'm all right," she assured him, glancing at him, taking note of the slightly deepened shadows under his eyes.  She did, however, let him take the stone sunflower.  "Do you want to walk, Kells?"

He bounced up and down and nodded.  "Today was the funnest day, ever!" he announced, slipping his little hands into both of theirs as he skipped along between them.

"Funnest isn't really a word, Kells," Ashur pointed out.  "But yes, it was very fun."

"It's more fun than preschool," Kells went on, his ebullience dying down.  "I don't wike preschool . . ."

He didn't see the looks that Jessa and Ashur exchanged over his head.  "I thought you said it was fun, too," Ashur ventured, careful to keep his voice from sounding overly concerned, as though he thought that Kells might stop talking if he did.

"I just don't wike it," Kells replied.  "Do I have to go, Daddy?"

"If you tell me why you don't like it, then maybe we can make it better."

Kells quickly shook his head, the change in his aura, immediate and intense, and he pulled his hand away from Ashur and turned, holding up his arms for Jessa to pick him up.  She did, hugging him close as she shot Ashur a sad little glance.  "You know you can tell your da anything—anything at all—or me . . ." she said as he tucked his head under her chin.

Kells sighed, but refused to say anything more, and Ashur frowned, slipping an arm around Jessa's waist as the three walked along, each of them lost in their own thoughts . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Usagiseren05
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Okmeamithinknow ——— patalaxe ——— Amanda Gauger ——— ShiroNeko316 ——— Monsterkittie ——— minthegreen
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> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** lovethedogs
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> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _Kells_ …


	71. Bitter Truths

The warmth of Ashur's lips broke through the pleasant slumber that lingered heavily around the edges of Jessa's mind as she rolled over with a contented sigh and slowly opened her eyes.  "Morning," she murmured, eyes drifting closed almost lazily, only to open once more, snuggling against the fluffy pillows.

He chuckled, fingertips tracing lightly over the high curves of her cheekbone, blue eyes taking on a hazy sort of brilliance, capturing the morning's light—the kind of golden sunshine of early morning that only came in the late summer and early autumn.

"Did you talk to Kells' teacher?"

Shaking his head, he let his hand fall away but not before reaching over to retrieve her hairbrush off the nightstand as she sat up and turned around.  "You have a one-track mind, Jessa," he complained, gathering the mass of her hair together to drag the brush through it.  "To answer your questions, I did.  She said she hasn't noticed anything going on with the children—nothing out of the ordinary, anyway."

She snorted indelicately, slouching forward, arms around her raised knees.  "There's something going on.  Don't worry.  I'll talk to her when I go pick him up."

"You're going to pick him up?"

She nodded.  "Yes.  Maybe I'll get better answers out of her than you did, and—"

Uttering a terse grunt, Ashur worked at a small tangle.  "Linda said that everything is fine—"

"Linda?  Who's Linda?"

Ashur dropped the brush beside him and tugged Jessa back against his chest.  "She's Kells' teacher."

"You call her by her given name?"

"She kind of insisted."

Jessa grunted and pulled away from him.  "Oh, did she nae?  And ye jis thought ye'd gae aloong with it?"

He blinked at the sudden spike in her youki, quickly shook his head.  "She was pretty adamant."

She narrowed her gaze.  "And I'm pretty adamant that ye dinnae do it, ye ken?"

"Jessa . . ."

"And just what, pray tell, does she call ye?"

He looked like he was thinking about his answer to that question, and more precisely, whether or not it was about to get him into more trouble . . .

"Does she call ye by your Christian name?"

"W . . . Well, when she said to call her, 'Linda', it only seemed right to—"

"And if she wants to see yer willy?  Ye'll drop yer drawers to be p'lite?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Jessa!  I have no interest in—"

She leaned away, crossing her arms over her chest stubbornly.

He sighed.  "Jessa, I swear on all that is holy, I have no intention of showing Lyn—Miss Tanner—my . . . my willy . . ." He snorted.  "My _penis_ —and—"

"Hrmph.  Bet the ault slag be strippin' ye blind in her mind e'ry time she sees ye . . ."

He rolled his eyes.  "Now you're being ridiculous," he countered gently.  "If it bothers you that much, I will never call her by her first name again."

"Which doesnae do a whit of good when she's oot there, callin' ye, 'Ashur' . . . prolly fantasizin' aboot yer willy and becomin' Mrs. Ashur Philips in the process . . ."

Heaving a sigh, he opened his mouth to try to placate her once more, only to snap it shut, and he leaned back, trying not to grin like an idiot instead, which only made her hackles rise just a little bit more.  "Jessa?"

"What?"

He nodded slowly.  "Are you jealous?"

"Wh—? I-I-I— _Are ye daft, mon?_ " she blasted, her aura fairly crackling with sparks of flame.

"You know damn well that  you don’t have any reason to be, though—" he assured her a little too reasonably.

"Good, acause I'm most ceartinly nae—"

"—Because I'd be a fool to be interested in someone like her when I already have someone like you."

Scooting off the bed, she stomped over retrieve a pair of cute, white lace panties and then over to the closet, tugging on the first dress she laid hands on—a very pretty blue sundress.  Then she grabbed a white button down sweater for good measure.

He sighed.  "What are you doing?" he drawled.

She shot him a cursory glance before hurrying back over to retrieve her hair brush.  He caught her hand when she reached for it and pulled her down on the bed again.  "It's nowhere near time to go pick up Kells," he pointed out when she tried to resist him.  "You're not going there to tell off his teacher just for calling me by my first name."

"Thinking aboot it," she muttered, wondering just how hard it would be to sidetrack him long enough for her to slip out the door unnoticed.

"The only one who gets to see me naked is you, _Amaterasu_ —well, you and, apparently, Carol . . ." Ashur assured her.

Jessa snorted, tugging away so that she could get up once more and pull her hair up into a quick and rather messy bun that she secured with pearl bobby pins—another gift from Ashur, who seemed to be convinced that if he bought her enough pretty hair accessories, she might start liking her ridiculously wild mane.

He sighed and flipped his legs off the side of the bed, only to stop when his cell phone rang.

She could only see his back in the mirror, but he grabbed the phone off the nightstand and stared at it for a long moment before connecting the call.  "Ashur Philips . . . Ms. Thomas, hello . . . Kells what . . .?"

Whipping around on her heel, eyes flaring wide at the mention of the child, she hurried over to stand before him, holding out her hand for the phone and narrowing her eyes when he flicked a hand to hold her off.  "Did he tell you why . . .?  I see . . . No, it's not a problem.  I'll be there shortly."

Standing up, he stuffed the device into his pocket and headed for the door.

Jessa ran after him.  "Ashur? What's the matter?  What happened?"

He didn't pause as he strode down the hallway and stairs.  "He was fighting," he replied, sitting on the bench to pull on his shoes as Jessa quickly donned a pair of taupe suede booties—they were the closest pair that she didn't have to go look for.

"Fighting?  Why?"

Ashur sighed and stood, grabbing his keys off the stand near the door.  "He wouldn't say."  He rubbed his forehead, squeezed his eyes closed for a moment.  "I'll go get him.  Why don't you just stay here?"

"I'm coming," she insisted, pinning him with a fierce glare, and her next words were punctuated by an index finger poke in the center of his chest with every syllable.  "And if you say I'm just his nanny, I swear to God, I'll make you rue the day you were born."

He stared at her for a moment, but finally nodded curtly as he grabbed her hand and hurried her toward the door.  "All right, Jessa.  Let's go."

 

* * *

 

 

"Mr. Philips, Ms. O'Shea . . . I'm so sorry that I had to call you about such a thing," Ms. Thomas said as she escorted the two into her office.  Kells is currently over on Dr. Landis' office.  I thought it'd be best so that we could talk about things before we bring him in here . . ."

"Has he said anything about what happened?" Ashur demanded.

"He hasn't, although it's not entirely surprising.  Children tend to hold their silence since they don't want to be viewed as a baby or whatnot."  She grimaced, carefully pouring mugs of tea from a lovely china carafe.  "I was wondering if there was anything going on at home that might help to explain this outburst?"

"Nothing bad," Ashur replied.  "What exactly _did_ happen?"

Ms. Thomas managed a pinched and thin little smile as she handed Jessa a cup and then offered one to Ashur.  "Miss Tanner will be in here shortly.  Right now, she's in the nurses' station, talking to two of the three boy's parents.  She can explain it better, but what she told me was that she was a few minutes late in getting outside since she had to attend to one of the children who was having some trouble in the bathroom, and by the time she got out there, she found Kells, standing over the two boys in question while the third little boy stood with his hands up, apparently surrendering.  Kells wouldn't say what was going on, but the other two said that Kells attacked them because he was mad that they wouldn't play with him . . ."

Jessa sat the cup and saucer down with a rather loud clatter.  "Kells is not a violent child, and I think that accepting the word of those two lads is being rather unfair."

"Ms. O'Shea, with all due respect, the two boys' stories match."

"And did they match alone or were they questioned together?"

Ms. Thomas smiled tightly.  "I understand that you want to take Kells' side in this.  That's entirely natural, given the situation, but—"

"I'm no' taking sides," she insisted, sitting up a little straighter as she leveled a very no-nonsense look at the school director.  "I'm askin' ye how ye can make that assumption when Kells hasnae said a thing—yer words, Ms. Thomas, no' mine.  Were there any other children aroond?"

"No, they were over by the dumpsters, which are off limits, but since their teacher wasn't out there with them—"

"And if these lads are in cahoots?  Of course, they're going ta give ye the same spiel, don' ye ken?"  She sighed, very obviously trying to control her rising irritation.  "May we speak with Kells, please?"

Ms. Thomas nodded as she got to her feet.  "I'll just ask Mrs. Landis to bring him in . . ."

"Alone."

The director stopped and turned to face them once more, a calculating expression on her face , brown eyes a little tight around the corners, her smile taking on a rather pinched sort of hardness.  "I'll bring him in here," she finally said.

Jessa waited until the door closed behind her to turn to Ashur.  "He's not the kind of child who would attack someone without a reason," she told him.

Ashur nodded.  "I agree."

"And I'll not sit by while he's blamed for something if he didn't do anything wrong," she went on.

"I agree."

"It's like they're ready to pin the entire blame on him when it may not be his fault, at all, and I won't have it!" she huffed.

"Me, either."

She frowned at him, narrowing her eyes at the hint of misplaced amusement evident in his face.  "This is serious, Ashur!"

"I agree," he said, lips twitching.

"Then what's so bloody amusing?"

He sighed and shrugged.  "You are.  I think you're more upset about this than I am."

"You should be more upset," she grumbled.  "I dinnae see why ye aren't."

He didn't get to answer, though, when the door opened again, and Kells shuffled into the room, stopping just inside the door, chin ducked, digging the toe of his shoe against the highly polished floor.

"Come here, Kells," Ashur said, sounding stern, but not angry.

Kells shook his head.

Ashur sighed.  "I just want to know what happened, that's all.  If it wasn't your fault, then you're not going to be punished—not by me, anyway."

He stood still for another moment.  Suddenly, though, he uttered a sharp sob, and he ran, but not to Ashur.  No, he ran straight to Jessa, who scooped him up and cuddled him close, murmuring soft little things into his ear as he cried.  "Oh, now, Kells . . . It's all right," she told him, rocking him like a baby, smoothing his hair out of his face.  "It can't be that bad, can it?  You can tell us what happened . . ."

He shook his head, burying his face against her shoulder, her chest, tiny body racked by sobs, and Ashur sighed.  "Kells, we can't help you unless you tell us what's wrong," he said, careful to keep his tone gentle.

"I w-w-wanna go home," Kells whimpered, voice muffled, refusing to look at his father.  "I don't wike sch-school . . ."

"Okay," Ashur relented, taking Kells from Jessa and settling the boy on his lap.  "Okay, we'll take you home, but you really have to tell me what happened first."

Kells sniffled, wiping his eyes with balled-up fists.  "They . . . They said you were bad, Daddy," he muttered.  "They said . . . They said you're not my daddy . . ."

"They said what?" Jessa growled.

Ashur touched her arm to still her.  "They said that to you."

Kells nodded miserably.  "An' they said . . . they said I don't gots a mommy 'cause . . . 'cause . . ." Those bright blue eyes filled with tears once more, and Ashur grimaced as he cuddled Kells against his shoulder, casting Jessa a grimace as he slowly shook his head.

Jessa, however, had apparently heard enough, and she shot to her feet and over to the door, and the sound of it slamming echoed in the quiet.

She didn't bother looking for Ms. Thomas.  The sign over the door of the nurses' station was clear enough, and she stomped down the hallway, sticking out her hand as she neared the doors, her flames shooting out to blast them open, ignoring the surprised little shrieks and hollered at her unannounced arrival.  "You two," she said, pinning the little boys, about Kells' age, with a glower as they cowered against their parents' legs.  "What gives you two little beasts the right to say anything— _anything_ at all to Kells about something that neither of you know a damn thing about?" she demanded.  The boys, of course, said nothing, and Jessa turned her ire on the parents—one mother and a mother and father, respectively.  "Kells was protecting himself from your darlin' little angels—little monsters who have pestered and tormented and teased him about his parents—which, might I add, is of no concern to any of you, now is it?"

"Ms. O'Shea," Ms. Thomas said, grasping Jessa's shoulders.

Jessa shook her off.  "Children hear everything you say— _everything_ —and what gives you the right to say a thing about a situation that not one of you has any real knowledge of?"

"Uh, we—uh . . ." The man blustered, very obviously unnerved by the entire confrontation.

"It's none of your business," Jessa insisted again, pinning each of them with a fulminating glower before turning her glare back on the boys once more.  "Now, you will tell Ms. Thomas exactly what you said and did to Kells, and you will not ever try to bully him, ever again or I will be back because I'll find out . . . and you don't _want_ me to come back, lads.  You don't _ever_ want me to come back, now do you?"

The boys shook their heads.  Satisfied that she'd made her point, she turned on her heel and narrowed her eyes at Ms. Thomas.  "As for Kells, we're taking him home, and he's never coming back here again.  The next time you decide to place the blame on a child when you haven't even bothered to get his side of it?  Well, I suppose there shouldn't be a next time, now should there?"  She started to walk away, and then thought better of it as she slowly pivoted on her heel once more and stared at the director.  "I should think that Gin Zelig might be well disappointed in your school when and if she hears of this.  After all, it was her recommendation that got Kells admitted here so quickly, wasn't it?"  She clucked her tongue.  "Damn shame . . ."

And then, she stomped away.

 

* * *

 

 

"C'mon, laddie.   Hop up here, and I'll read your story."

Kells scrambled onto the bed, yanking up the small duvet as he ferreted against Jessa's side, staring up at her with wide, shining eyes.  He wasn't smiling, but he didn't have to.  His youki was far more peaceful than it had been in the last week, all because Jessa had told him that they were going home and that he'd never have to go to that school again.  "Jessa?"

"Yes?  What story do you want?'

"I don't want a story," Kells said.

Jessa blinked and frowned as she ruffled his hair and hugged him close.  "You don't?  But you love story time . . ."

Kells frowned, too.  "Can I tell you want I want?"

"Okay," she said.  "You can tell me anything, Kells."

Kells sighed.  "I want my fire back—the fire you gave me."

Ashur, who was leaning in the doorway, nodded, levering himself away from the frame and hurrying away.

"Jessa?"

"Hmm?"

"Why don't I have a mommy?"

His question made her flinch, and she pulled him a little tighter against her side.  "I . . . I don't know, Kells," she admitted.  "But . . . But I do know that anyone— _anyone_ —would be . . . so happy to be your mommy . . ."

He thought that over for a moment before letting his head fall back so that he could gaze up at her.  "Would you be happy to be my mommy?"

For some reason, the rush of tears that filled her eyes was immediate and intense, and she sniffled.  "I'd . . . I'd love to be your mommy, Kells," she choked out.

Kells suddenly laughed, throwing his arms around her.

"Here you go," Ashur said, striding into the room with the necklace that he'd taken from the boy when he'd tried to break it before.  "But you have to promise that you won't break this unless . . . unless you're _dying_."

"Daddy!" Kells exclaimed, hopping to his feet so that his father could slip the necklace over his head.  "Daddy, Jessa says she loves to be my mommy!  Does that mean I can call her mommy now 'cause she won't get freaky?"

"Uh . . ." Ashur's mouth dropped open as Jessa's eyebrows rose in unvoiced question.  "Well . . . I guess that's up to her."

Dropping to his knees, he bounced and managed to turn around in one solid motion.  "Can I?"

Jessa laughed and grabbed Kells into a tight cuddle-hold.  "You can call me whatever you like, Kells," she told him, kissing his cheek for good measure.  "I . . . I would . . . I would love to be your ma . . ."

Kells giggled, letting her hold him on her lap.  "Now I gots a mommy for real!" he exclaimed.

Jessa laughed despite the fat tears that stood in her eyes.

Ashur sat down on the other side of the tiny bed and leaned in to slip his arms around them both.  "You sure you're okay with this?" he asked over Kells' head.

Jessa choked out a sound that was caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob.  "I'm more than okay with it," she whispered, still mussing Kells' hair as the boy held onto the fire pendant with one hand and snuggled down between them with the happiest smile on his face as his eyes drifted closed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_A/N_** :
> 
>  _Y'all, I have a seriously crappy day.  Mom's in the hospital and it's just been really trying, so I'm not messing with trying to copy people's names for reviews for this chapter.  Hopefully, tomorrow will be better.  *sadface_ *
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Kells_** :  
>  _I gots a mommy now, too_!


	72. Confessions

Ashur rolled over onto his back with a heavy sigh, pulling Jessa along with him, her body sprawled over his, her heartbeat thundering in his ears, her skin covered with a light sheen of sweat as she struggled to breathe.

It took a few minutes for him to calm down enough to do much of anything, and he smiled just a little, smoothing her hair, watching it fall through his fingers . . .

"You have an unhealthy preoccupation with that mess," she pointed out, propping her chin on her hands that were resting atop his chest.

"If I've told you once, I've told you many times: I adore your hair, Jessa."

She sighed, her smile fading as a thoughtful frown surfaced instead.  "Do you know those children's parents?"

His hands stilled for just a moment before resuming the idle stroking of her hair once more.  "I don't think so," he remarked.  "That doesn't mean much when they obviously know something."

"What could they know?"

" _They . . . They said you were bad, Daddy . . . They said . . . They said you're not my daddy . . . An' they said . . . they said I don't gots a mommy 'cause . . . 'cause_ . . ."

He scowled.  "Kells said . . . He said that they said I was bad, that I'm not his . . . his daddy . . ."

"And his . . . his mommy . . ."

Ashur nodded.  "They obviously know something.  I just don't know how—whether it was something they might have known first-hand or if it was something they'd just heard and had drawn their own conclusions."

Jessa frowned.  He could tell from the expression on her face that she wanted to ask something.  He could also tell from that same expression that she didn't think it was her business, and he sighed.  "You . . . You want to know what happened, don't you?" he asked gently, more for her benefit than for his own since he . . . Well, he'd rather not think about it, let alone talk about it.  But Jessa . . . She had a right to know, and maybe . . . Maybe he should have told her a long time ago . . .

The look she shot him was almost guilty, as though she thought that he was just humoring her, and in a way, he supposed that he was.  Even so . . . "You . . . You don't have to tell me a thing, Ashur," she said.  "It's . . . It's really none of my business, and—"

"You're wrong," he interrupted, placing a finger to her lips.  "It _is_ your business.  What kind of relationship do we have if you're . . . if you're afraid to ask me things?  Because right now, I know what your questions are, but later?  I may not, and . . . and I can't read your mind, Jessa.  This . . . This whole mate thing?  It's supposed to be a partnership.  It's not supposed to be something where I only tell you what I want to tell you.  You know that, don't you?"

The confusion in her gaze was enough to make him wince.  Remembering the things that Nora had told him, he frowned.  No, he thought.  She really had no idea . . . "You don't know that, do you?" he murmured, pulling her against his chest again, kissing her forehead as he let out a deep breath, as he smoothed the hair out of her face.  "It's just . . . It's not a story with a happy ending, Jessa.  My parents, you know?  They . . . They were much better at destruction than they ever were at nurturing.  They blamed it on Ben, on the idea that he'd chosen to walk away—to live his own life—instead of staying behind and living the one that they'd planned out for him."

"He was raised like you were?" Jessa asked quietly, softly, _gently_ , as if she thought that her questions would hurt him somehow.  "Treated like . . ." Suddenly, she shook her head.  "I'm sorry.  No matter what, they were still your parents, and—"

"Don't be sorry," he told her, giving her a little squeeze.  "As far as Ben goes?  I . . . I don't think so.  From what I've been told, Ben was raised slightly differently.  I mean, he had the same forced freedom that I did, sure, but . . .  They were more apathetic than cold to him, allowing him to learn from his own adventures, I guess . . ."

"And you?"

He sighed.  "I don't know much more about Ben's upbringing than that," he said almost apologetically.  "If you wanted to know more about that, then you could ask Ben—I promise you, he wouldn't mind."

"That's so . . . I-I-I couldn't—"

"I just meant that if you wanted to really grasp the difference.  It doesn't really matter except to say that my parents thought that I'd be Ben-reborn, and I wasn't.  The thing was, they didn't tell me that I even had an older brother till I was eighty.  I lived my entire life until then, not really understanding why I could never truly meet their expectations—or even what their true expectations even were . . ."

"That's entirely unfair.  Two children aren't supposed to be the same as each other," she muttered, snuggling a little closer.  "I can't even fathom . . . How do you not tell your child that he has a sibling?"  She sighed, brow still furrowed in very obvious irritation.  "It just seems wrong . . ."

"They didn't have to tell me that for me to understand early on that I was a bitter disappointment.  I'm elemental, like you, which means that I'm not as physical as Ben—a panther—was.  I never have been.  _Mononoke_ —creature spirits—are always more physical because it's in their natures to be.  On the reverse side of it, they tend to not be able to use the kinds of attacks that we are.  It's give and take, but of course, my father, being a panther, as well, held value in brute strength.  Anyway, the point here is just to explain that I was never raised to ever think that I was anything but a failure.  I wasn't given hopes or dreams outside of the betterment of the family.  I simply didn't exist outside of the framework that they'd set down."

"That's . . . sad . . ." she ventured, her fist tightening around a handful of his hair, as though she needed something to hold onto.  "What a horrid thing to do to their child . . ."

"It is what it is, Jessa," he told her with a wan smile.  "Everyone grows up in some sort of cage.  It's just that some parents make those cages a little more pleasant than others."

"Is Kells in a cage?" she countered quietly.

"Of course he is.  His cage, though . . . It's whatever he wants it to be."

She considered that, but finally smiled.  "Then it's a beautiful cage."

He nodded.  "I hope so . . ."

She sighed, leaning up on her elbow, pushing back his bangs with her tender touch, her gaze full of an understated light, a gentle glow.  "Do you want more children, Ashur?  I mean, maybe not this minute, but someday?"

He smiled, caught her hand, kissed her knuckles.  "Kells does," he replied.  "I hadn't really thought about that, but with you?  I think that'd be all right . . ."

"Just all right?" she teased.

He chuckled, pulling her in for a soft kiss—not one meant to spark anything despite the surge that shot through him at the intimate contact.  No, it was more of a kiss designed to let her know just how he was feeling, that he was simply happy enough, just to be with her . . . "Seeing you, chubby and round with our baby?  I think I'd like that, yes."

He could tell from the expression on her face, the softness in her eyes, that she was considering that, too, and she laughed.

He indulged in the moment for just a little longer before letting out a deep breath, reminding himself just what they were talking about, unwilling to allow himself to be sidetracked this time.  No, it was best to just rip off that bandage, wasn't it?  Because if he didn't . . .

"Anyway . . . I guess that kind of explains enough for you to understand that, by the time the plans were being whispered—the idea of trying to overthrow Sesshoumaru—that I . . . I wasn't entirely sure what to do.  On the one hand, it had been drilled into me for centuries: family, blood . . . the idea that you simply did not question otou-san . . . That he was always right, that his word was law.  I understood that, and still . . . At that time, the idea of going against them wasn't really something I'd considered.  I mean, it wasn't my place to try to tell him that he was making a fool's mistake.  Then I heard them talking one night.  They were discussing the idea of having another child, not because they wanted another child.  They wanted an insurance policy, of sorts.  They wanted to make sure that, should the need arise, they could use okaa-san's pregnancy to buy them some time in case they needed to flee the country, to hide—because who would ever issue a hunt for someone whose mate was pregnant?  That's . . . That's what they thought, anyway.  I knew it was arrogant, even stupid, on their parts.  They were talking about murdering the Inu no Taisho.  Pregnancy or not, it wouldn't have made a difference.  But the thing that horrified me the most was just . . . just the pragmatic way that they discussed it, like it wasn't a child at all that they were going to create . . . Something about that . . ."

"That's . . . disgusting," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

He grimaced, biting back the emotions that rose in him, even now, years after the fact . . . That night, with the sliver of a moon, hanging so low in the sky, and he had realized it then: the absolute perversion of the people that he called, 'family' . . . "It felt . . . unnatural . . ."

"Kells," she breathed.

He nodded slowly.  "Kells . . ."

"That child," she said, her voice taking on an unmistakably sad lilt, "he's light and . . . life and . . . love and laughter . . ."

"And that was when I decided . . . I told them that I had a business trip that I had to take, and I went to find Ben, to tell him everything.  That was when I realized that . . . that I couldn't let them do what they planned.  I'd be lying if I tried to say that I wanted to save the Inu no Taisho.  That sounds better, doesn't it?  But, in reality . . . I mean, when I thought about the way that this child would be raised, the things that he'd be made to feel—the things that he'd never be _allowed_ to feel . . . And a part of me understood from the moment I left my parents' home, that ultimately, they would die . . . and . . ." He winced, drew a deep breath, forced himself to admit the rest—the part he'd never, ever voiced out loud before, not even to himself.  ". . . And I meant for them to."

"To save Kells," she finished.  Somehow, it did little to alleviate the surge of guilt that frothed in him.

"Don't try to make it sound noble, Jessa," he warned, his tone taking on a slight sharpness.  "It was selfish—purely selfish.  I didn't want to look that child in the eyes, knowing that there was something I could have done to prevent the pain, the ache that never goes away . . . because if I let it go on, then it would have been just as much my fault—maybe more my own than theirs.  After all, they honestly saw nothing wrong in it, so how can they be blamed when they didn't know any better?  But I . . . _I_ did . . ."

"If you're trying to convince me that you're anything but a good man, Ashur Philips, it isn't working," she told him sternly.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead before wrapping his arms tightly around her once more.  "My actual thought was that I'd end up dead, but with any luck, so would they, and that would leave Ben, but he'd take care of Kells, so . . . So, it was all going to be all right, you know?"

"You . . . You wanted to . . . die . . .?"

He shrugged.  "'Wanted' isn't a good word.  I just knew that it would probably happen . . . Anyway, everything went crazy.  They decided that the best course of action would be to take out Sesshoumaru's protection first—try to weaken him, as it were . . . They hated Sesshoumaru, blamed him for being the reason why Ben had left, to begin with, and he was, indirectly.  He asked Keijizen to take up the post of tai-youkai in America, and Ben, his best friend, went with him.  They blamed Sesshoumaru for it, maybe even more than they blamed Keijizen—maybe.  Over time, that hate festered, and that's when otou-san thought that if he could gather enough support, cover his animosity over with whatever reasons anyone wanted to hear, that he could overthrow him, which was entirely stupid, given that Sesshoumaru is  Inu no Taisho for a reason.  It's not a title that was just handed to him because he was the prettiest puppy in the puppy parade . . ."

Jessa frowned.  "Well, he kind of is . . ."

Ashur choked out a laugh. "I'll take your word for it, Jessa."

She giggled, but her expression didn't remain, shifting once more into a more serious tone.  "They targeted his private guard?"

"Well, no . . . Sesshoumaru doesn't have a private guard, per se.  What he does have is a bevy of hunters at his disposal, and the best of them all is his nephew, Ryomaru Izayoi."

"I've heard of him . . . His father is legendary, isn't he?"

Ashur nodded.  "He is . . . I'll be honest.  There's nothing on earth that could make me tangle with that particular family, period.  To do so is foolishness, and nothing but.  In order to lure Ryomaru out, to trap him, they decided to start cutting down humans, but I warned Ben, so . . . So Ryomaru was never sent. Instead, they sent Manami, which was fine, but after she'd hunted a number of the ones that they'd sent out to lay the traps, otou-san spotted her in the city, and he figured it out.  Manami was close to Ben when they were children—teenagers . . . Okaa-san knew that Manami wouldn't have ever returned to Japan unless something important brought her back . . . So, they captured her . . . and what they did to her . . ."

"They hurt her," Jessa finished.

He sighed, grimaced.  "Otou-san held her, questioned her, for a few days—no food, no water—nothing.  But okaa-san . . . She was vindictive, brutal . . . She whipped Manami, badly with a poison-laced lash . . . We didn't realize it at the time, but the bird-youkai are different from most others.  When most mononoke transform, their entire bodies change.  Your cousin, Myrna, for example . . . When she transforms, her arms shift into wings.  It may be that the hawks' wings are stronger that way.  I don't know.  Anyway, swans are different—much different. Their wings are retracted into their backs.  Only swan-youkai are that way.  I'm not sure why . . . When okaa-san beat her, she . . . she damaged Manami's wings.  They . . . They couldn't repair them . . ."

"Manami," Jessa breathed, flinched, the horror in her eyes a terrible thing to see.  "She . . . She never said . . ."

"She wouldn't.  She won't . . ."

"And there's nothing that could help her?"

He slowly shook his head.  "I wish there were . . ."

She considered that for a minute, as though she were trying to figure out some way, something that the rest of them hadn't already tried or suggested.  "I'll bet they were beautiful, her wings . . ."

Thinking back to that night, as he'd watched her unfurl those damaged wings . . . And still, there had been such grace, such majesty to them, despite the battering they'd taken.  And still, she flew . . . "They were."  She flinched again, and Ashur kissed her forehead.  "Hana . . . She was a servant in my parents' house.  She was a friend, too—a childhood friend.  I told you that much, I think . . . But we . . . We were close . . ." He grimaced inwardly, wondering just how much he ought to tell her about that, but then, she'd talked to Hana, hadn't she?  He just didn't know what all the woman had told Jessa . . . "I should tell you, I think . . . Hana and I . . ."

Jessa shook her head, as though she didn't want Ashur to say whatever it was that he was about to.  "She . . . She said she was your . . . your one love . . ."

Ashur frowned.  "My . . .?" That made no sense.  One love?  He shook his head, too.  "Jessa, what exactly did she say to you?"

Jessa bit her lip, her expression growing just a little more guarded, her youki pulling in around her, as though to protect her, and he sighed.  "I really need to know exactly what she said," he coaxed as gently as he could.

She shook her head again.  "It was hard to . . . to understand her," she blurted, shaking her head as she started to sit up.  Ashur caught her and held her.  "She said . . . She said you were her one love, that you . . . that you could not forget her . . ." she finally whispered.

He considered that, his scowl darkening.  ' _One . . . love_ . . .'

' _First time, maybe? Hatsukoi—first love . . . Maybe that's what she meant . . ._ '

He sighed.  "I don't think she meant that the way it must have sounded," he said.  "I think she meant that I was her . . . her first lover . . ." He grimaced.  "That I can't forget what she did . . . Jessa . . . I'm not in love with her.  I've never been _in_ love with her.  I . . . She was my friend—my best friend for a very long time.  Did you think . . .?"

She wouldn't look at him as she scrunched her shoulders up, like she was trying to make herself just a little smaller, and he sighed again.  "You have to understand, Jessa . . . Things in Japanese are a lot different than things you might say in English.  Most Japanese don't say words like, 'I love you'—it doesn't translate well, and if I were to say something like that in Japan, it'd be, like . . . like something  you'd say when you were dying . . . and it doesn't mean I don't feel . . ." he flinched, feeling her retreating from him just a little farther . . . "You . . . are the one I've waited centuries to find.  You're the one who makes me smile, makes me laugh . . . the one I . . . I love . . ."

Her chin snapped up, her eyes flaring wide, as she let go of her youki, as it unfurled around him.  "You . . . You do?" she whispered, shaking her head as though to refute what he'd just said.  "But—"

"It's hard for me, Jessa," he said with a shake of his head.  "I'm not used to saying things like this.  It's . . . It's difficult because it sounds so . . . so strange . . ."

"You . . . You love . . . me . . .?"

Suddenly, he chuckled.  "Yes, Jessa . . . Why else would I have taken you as my mate?"  She bit her lip again, only this time, she looked like she just might cry, and he rolled his eyes and chuckled again.  "Before you cry, let me finish telling you this, okay?"

She made a face, wrinkling her adorable nose, casting him a very dry look, but she nodded.  "Ruin the moment, Ashur Philips," she grumbled.

He smiled and pulled her against him yet again.  "Anyway, Hana ran to Sesshoumaru, told them that my father had figured out that I was spying for him, that I'd helped Manami escape.  If she hadn't . . ." Trailing off, he willed himself to calm, willed himself to continue, his tone taking on a far more clinical sound, and maybe he needed that degree of separation . . . "By the time they came, I was unconscious.  Ben had invoked the Rite of Kinship—meaning that otou-san had no choice but to fight him.  Ben won.  He . . . He killed otou-san.  By the time I was healed enough to get up, I went to see okaa-san—she was being held in a small cell behind the house and was almost ready to give birth.  She . . . She wanted clothes—she was in her night gown the whole time she was confined—so, I asked Hana to fetch them.  When Hana returned, okaa-san . . . She lashed out at Hana, told her that she'd killed her mother for being clumsy, called Hana my . . . my whore . . . Hana didn't know about her mother's death.  She only knew that her mother had died, not that she was murdered.  She lost it, for want of a better term, and I could understand that, but when I tried to intervene, she immobilized me with one of her senbon.  I could only watch as she ripped into my mother—as she cut her and beat her . . . When they came in to pull her off okaa-san, it was too late.  She was dying.  I . . . I barely had enough time to . . . to cut Kells free . . . and all I can see when I see Hana is . . . Is Kells, and . . . If she had killed okaa-san before I could save him . . ."

Jessa uttered a terse sound, a guttural sound, trapped low in her throat.  When he dared to look at her, he winced at the absolute pain in her eyes, in the way she kept opening and closing her mouth, as though she simply couldn't find the words to say.  The upset in her youki was a hard thing to reconcile, and he sighed as he held her close, as she rasped out a roughened sob.

"It's okay, Jessa," he told her gently, trying to comfort her, feeling like he was failing miserably.  "That's why . . . That's why I sent her away," he went on.  "That's why I told her I don't want to see her, ever again.  I . . . I can't . . . I mean, I understand what she did and why, but when I think about Kells . . ."

Jessa sniffled, holding onto him like she was afraid to let go.  "And . . . And that's why you adopted him?  So that he wouldn't have to know . . ."

He nodded.  "I don't know if I'm being foolish, thinking that maybe he won't ever have to know . . . It's just so ugly, so . . . so pathetic . . . That's why we moved here—for a fresh start, away from the whispers and the gossip . . . I . . . I chose his name because of the story, and I chose mine . . . I chose mine to remind myself that I didn't have to remain who I was; that I could be someone entirely different . . ."

"If he finds out, then he'll understand," she said, her voice shaky despite the conviction behind her words.  "Ashur . . .?"

Holding her close, he breathed in the scent of her, let it soothe him, let it calm him, marveling in the idea that telling her everything . . . It hadn't been nearly as bad as he'd dreaded . . . "Hmm?"

She sighed, finally relaxing against him, and, though he could still sense an underlying sadness, she also seemed to be processing it all in a remarkable way, one that he envied just a little.  "I . . . I love you, too," she ventured quietly.

He felt the strange sting behind his eyelids, blinking fast as he tiled her face, as he kissed her gently, as he wondered absently, just why those simple words were enough to make him forget a lifetime of pain . . . or maybe . . .

Maybe it was all Jessa . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_A/N_** :
> 
>  ** _Hatsukoi:_** _Literally, first love_.
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** xSerenityzx020 ——— smpnst
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda+Gauger ——— patalaxe ——— minthegreen ——— Monsterkittie ——— Okmeamithinknow
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— lianned88
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _He … loves me_ …?


	73. Lost Things

Jessa awoke with a wide yawn and a sleepy smile as a very warm body burrowed between Ashur and her.  She didn't know when Kells had crawled into bed with them, but she couldn't complain about it, either, though she did snag the duvet with her toes and tugged it up far enough so that she could grab it with her fingers to drag it up over them all, careful to avoid waking Ashur.

For once, the lad hadn't bothered to strip off his pajamas when he crawled into bed, and for a moment, she considered, getting up long enough to find a tee-shirt or something.  But the sun wasn't up yet, and she was entirely too comfortable to bother . . .

' _It's not such a big deal, is it?  And I daresay that Kells is entirely too cozy for him not to notice if you got up._ '

' _Oh, you . . . And suppose you tell me why you've been so hushed lately?  Did you know that Ashur's our mate?_ '

Her youkai laughed.  ' _Well, I did think as much, yes, but you weren't interested in listening, now were you?  You were having entirely too much fun, convincing yourself that he couldn’t possibly be, so who am I to ruin your pity party?_ '

' _And you call me a bitch . . ._ '

' _Aye, but you're a sweet little bitch when you've a mind to be._ '

Jessa snorted and snuggled down into her pillow again, opting to ignore the irritating voice since it was very obviously not interested in helping her in the least . . .

Kells wiggled around, sticking his butt up in the air, smashing his face down into the pillows a little deeper.  Jessa giggled.

Ashur sighed and opened his eyes, pinning Jessa with a very sleepy look over Kells' head.  "Between him kicking me and you laughing, I'm never going to get to sleep in again, am I?" he asked ruefully despite the heightened brightness in his gaze.

With another giggle, Jessa rolled off the bed and grabbed her robe before scooping up a still-sleepy Kells.  "Come on, lad," she said, kissing his cheek.  "Let's go find some breakfast.  Then we'll go for a quick ride and let your da sleep in."

"Okay," Kells muttered, rubbing his eyes as he huddled against her shoulder.

"Feel free to sleep in, Ashur," she told him with a wink.  Then she slipped out of the room with Kells.

"Mommy?"

The sound of that word on those lips was enough to bring a fresh wash of tears to Jessa's eyes as she moved down the hallway and toward the stairs.  "Hmm?" she intoned as she held him just a little closer.

Kells sighed happily.  "We can have a, 'Mommy-Kells Day' today?  Just us?"

She laughed a little unsteadily.  "We can do whatever you'd like, Kells."

He leaned away, his tiny hand reaching up to brush a tear off her cheek as he tucked his claws under so that he wouldn't scratch her, his bottom lip jutting out as his little brow furrowed with obvious concern.  "Why you cryin', Mommy?"

And the, 'Mommy' brought on a few more tears as she laughed and kissed his cheek.  "You make me happy," she told him.

"An' you cry when you're happy?"

She nodded.  "Sometimes."

He pondered that for a moment before throwing his little arms around her neck.  "Because you're _really_ happy?"

She barked out a terse laugh, followed in short order by a sniffle.  "Yes, I am," she assured him.

He sighed.  "Me, too."

She'd gotten her emotions back under control by the time she stepped into the kitchen.  Nora looked up from the sausages she was frying to smile at them.  "Good morning, my lambs.  Will it be pancakes for you, Master Kells?"

"Yeah!" he exclaimed as Jessa set him on his feet so that he could scurry over to see just what Nora was doing.  "Can I help?"

"Why, you certainly can," she told him.  "Would you like to help me squeeze oranges?"

Kells nodded as he tugged his stool over next to Nora.

"And will your mate be joining you for breakfast?" the housekeeper asked.

"He'll be sleeping in this morning," Jessa replied with a secretive little smile.

" _You . . . are the one I've waited centuries to find.  You're the one who makes me smile, makes me laugh . . . the one I . . . I love_ . . ."

"Mommy, can we take our picture together?" Kells asked as he tried his best to smash the orange halves down on the juicer top.

She laughed. "You want to go into the city and get our picture taken?"

Kells nodded happily.

"Can Daddy come, too?" Ashur drawled, shuffling into the kitchen and still looking entirely and adorably sleepy, though he had managed to pull on a robe.  He smiled at Nora and squeezed her shoulder in passing before ruffling Kells' hair and helping him squeeze the last bit of juice from the orange half.

"I can do it, Daddy!" Kells insisted, shoving at his father with his shoulder.  "An' it's just a Mommy-Kells Day!  No Daddy!"

Ashur chuckled and let go of the child in favor of wandering around the counter to kiss Jessa instead.  "If it's just Mommy and Kells, then it won't be a real family picture," he said, wrapping his arms around Jessa, leaning down just enough to rub his cheek against hers.  "Don't you want a real family picture, Kells?"

He looked genuinely troubled by this.  On the one hand, he did want that picture.  On the other?  He really seemed to want the, 'Just-Mommy-Kells Day', too . . .

"If you want me in the pictures, Kells, I could meet you two later since I have some things to take care of anyway . . . Then again, if you want real pictures, I'll call and book an appointment with someone, but it probably won't be today," Ashur offered.

Kells thought it over, tapping his orange pulpy fingers against his chin.  "Then we can go have our Mommy-Kells-Day and do pictures later?"

Ashur chuckled.  "You could go pick out clothes for the photos," he suggested.

Jessa laughed.  "Could I?" she countered.

He smiled.  "You can do whatever you want, Jessa."

She kissed his cheek, and he tightened his hold on her for a long moment before letting her go and pulling out a chair for her.  "Will you miss me today?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at her as he sat down in the chair next to hers.

"I . . . might," she allowed.  "What's so important that you've got to get done today?"

He shrugged.  "A few things . . . Nothing interesting, really, but he seems pretty excited to have you all to himself today, so  . . ."

"So, you're bowing out gracefully?"

"Something like that," he replied.

Jessa smiled as she stood up to grab the coffee.  No doubt about it, it was going to be a good day . . .

 

* * *

 

 

Slamming the phone receiver down into the cradle with a vicious growl of abject frustration, Carl Kingston shot to his feet, stalking across the length of the chamber, the heels of the Birham-Magoshe wing-tip Oxfords thudding heavily against the travertine floor.  "Damn it, damn it, _damn it!_ " he hissed.

A light throat-clearing drew his attention, and Carl shot his butler a very scathing glower that the aged rat-youkai summarily ignored.  "Pardon, Your Grace, but there's a gentleman here to see you.  A Master Cartwright says he has information that he will only share with you."

"Master Cartwright?" he repeated with a scoff.  "Never heard of him.  Send him away."

The butler sighed.  "Your Grace, he says it has to do with . . . the girl . . ."

"Is that so?"  Turning away from him, Carl moved over to the wetbar, took his time,  pouring absinthe into a Tarragona absinthe glass before settling the sterling silver slotted spoon over it.  "Allow him to stew over it a little while," he commanded, carefully settling a sugar cube in the spoon and letting the tongs fall to the countertop with a dull clatter before reaching for the pitcher of water.  "Then you may show him in."

It was nothing but luck, wasn't it?  The very day that MacDonnough called to tell him that he'd lost track of the girl in question, and here was a stranger with information on her whereabouts?  But . . .

Watching as the slow trickle of water filtered over the sugar cube and through the slotted spoon, Carl very nearly smiled.

In fact, he'd just settled into his desk chair once more, glass in hand as he idly stared at the clear liquid, when the curt but quiet knock came upon the door.  The butler swung it open and made a low bow before stepping back to allow Master Cartwright to step inside.  Then he closed the door without comment as Carl narrowed his gaze, as he slowly lifted the glass to his lips.

"Y-Your Grace," the man stammered, giving a quick bow in deference to Carl's superior station.  "I'm sorry for intruding in your home, and I'm grateful—"

"Let's skip the groveling, Master Cartwright," Carl demanded, teeth grinding at the harsh enunciation of the obvious American, setting the glass aside as he waved at a chair.  "Whatever news you think you have, just say it."

The man nodded slowly, sliding into the chair that Carl had indicated, and for the reluctant calm that he was trying to pass off, Carl could feel the man's unsteady nerves.  "Well, it's just, um . . . I have a friend who was at a party awhile back—the Zelig Foundation Gala—and she said that . . . that there was a girl there, introduced as Lady Jessamyn O'Shea . . ."

"She attended a gala.  Is that what you're saying?" Carl demanded, mostly because he was already well aware of that, and it wasn't entirely surprising, given that she was supposed to be staying with her cousin in New York City . . . Even though that bit of information couldn't actually be verified since the cousin in question never seemed to be home for more than a day or two at a time of late, either.

Master Cartwright flinched slightly, hands tightening and loosening on the arms of the antique chair.  "My friend said that she seemed . . . a little friendly with a man there—Zelig's new Canadian general, actually.  Umm, Philips?  Ashur Philips . . . Ben Philips' younger brother, I hear."

"How close?" Carl demanded.

"Well, my friend said that it . . . It was well known that the two went into one of the private rooms and, uh . . . h-had relations . . ."

"Is that right?"

Grimacing when the ink pen in Carl's hand snapped in half, the man nodded quickly.  "He lives in Quebec City," he went on in a rush.  "I don't know where, but—"

Carl dropped the ruined pen into the trash can.  "That will be all, Master Cartwright."

"Y-Your Grace," he hurried to say as he hastily stood up, "I . . . I thought that, since I made a special trip, just to tell you . . . I thought . . ."

Carl stood slowly, drawing himself up to his full height as he peered at the upstart with enough brass to demand compensation for the paltry bit of information he was able to give.  "Letting you walk out of here alive should be more than enough for the likes of you," he said.  "But, given that I'm feeling generous today?"

Reaching down to pop open the side drawer, Carl dug a couple stacks of cash out of it and tossed it across the desk.  "Now, forget that you came here," he stated as he snapped the drawer closed once more.  It secured itself with a soft beep.  "I trust you know the way out."

The man took the money and made a quick bow before hurrying out of the office and closing the door in his wake.

Only then, did Carl slip back into his chair once more, reaching for the glass of absinthe that he had set aside.  It would all come together, surely . . . His patience was indeed paying off, and in the end?

He smiled to himself.  In the end, they'd all see—they'd all witness as he stepped forward to lay claim to a world that would be so very different from the mockery that existed now . . .

 

* * *

 

 

Ashur glanced at his watch as he shuffled through the taller grass of the field behind the house.  It was almost six-thirty, and Jessa and Kells had been out all day since Nora had packed up a nice picnic lunch for them just after they'd returned home from shopping for clothes for family pictures.  Kells had picked out a few outfits, and Jessa had gotten a couple thicker fall sweaters.  It seemed like she was always a little cold, probably because she was fire, and therefore, had a low tolerance for cold.  They'd also picked out a few not-white shirts for him, which would be a little weird, given that the last time he'd worn anything of real, actual color, it was traditional Japanese garb . . .

Which, he supposed, might well have been the reason why he'd opted to outfit himself in nothing usually but basic white and black, for the most part . . .

They'd sent him pictures throughout the course of the day, and Kells had been over the moon to show him the strips of photos that they'd done in the small kiosk in one of the shopping centers in the city: lots of them, hugging, smiling, some of them making faces and generally being silly . . . All in all, he'd figured that it was a good opportunity for the two of them to bond even more, and Jessa, he'd noticed, had been nothing but smiles, all day, and that, in his estimation, was well worth the sacrifice of having them out of his sight for a few hours.

Even so, the sun was starting to set, and, while he really didn't want to call a halt to Mommy-Kells Day, he supposed that some things couldn't be avoided, especially when Nora had stepped into the office long enough to ask if she ought to keep dinner warm for them.  He'd smiled and told her that he'd go find them.  Sure, he could have just called or texted Jessa, but then, he rather liked the idea of seeing what they were up to.  At last picture text, she'd said that they'd found something interesting, but she didn't say what, and he couldn't tell from the attached picture, just what it was, either.

They were close; he could feel them.  Frowning slightly as another presence interrupted his perception, he hurried forward just a little faster as the vague outline of Jessa appeared not too far ahead.  She was walking with Kells beside her, and they both seemed calm enough, but Devlin was with them, and he arched an eyebrow that they couldn't see since the sun was behind him.  "I thought it was Mommy-Kells Day," he said in lieu of a greeting as he neared them.  "What's he doing here?  He's neither Mommy nor is he Kells . . ."

Devlin chuckled a little wanly, but there was something slightly off about his slightly staggered gait.  "Sorry, they called me," he said.  "They found an injured lynx and her cub . . ."

"His name is Puff-Puff," Kells exclaimed happily, holding up a smallish ball of very pale fur—fur so pale that it almost looked white, but Ashur couldn't be sure, given the falling darkness.

"His mother is albino, too," Jessa explained, shaking her head a little sadly.  "Probably why she was attacked . . ."

Kells looked sad, too, as he cuddled the kitten against his chest.  "Dev tried to save his mommy," he went on, "but he said she was hurt too bad."

Devlin sighed and winced apologetically.  "She was almost dead when I got here," he explained.  "I mean, I tried . . ." He flinched and made a face as he dragged a slightly shaking hand through his spiky hair.  "Maybe too hard, actually . . ."

"We . . . We couldn't just leave him, Ashur," Jessa said quietly.  "I thought . . . I thought that if you don't want to try to keep him, maybe there's a zoo or something . . .?"

"Can we keep him, Daddy?  He _needs_ us!" Kells begged, turning those bright blue eyes on him, bottom lip quivering, and even in the dusk, he could smell the scent of fresh tears.  "I can talk to him!  He says he'll be good!"

"Entirely unfair," Ashur muttered, shaking his head.  "Does he really?" he asked, only half-believing the tiny tyrant.

Kells nodded emphatically.  "I'll keep him in my room!  He'll be good; I promise!"

Ashur snorted.  "I don't need _your_ promise, Kells—I need _his_."

Kells held up the kitten, looked him in the eye, uttered a few small half-growly noises before cuddling him against his chest once more.  "He promises, Daddy!" Kells insisted.

Ashur slowly shook his head, a part of him not really believing that he was about to allow Kells to keep a lynx—for a little while, anyway.  "For now," he agreed.  "When he gets older, though, we may not be able to.  He's a wild animal, you know."

Kells giggled happily.  "He's hungry, Daddy!  He wants milk!"

Ashur ruffled the boy's hair.  "Oh, does he?  Well, I don't know if he can have cow's milk.  We'll look it up when we get home."

"He is probably old enough to feed some raw meat," Devlin remarked.  "I'm going to head home, Irish.  Call if you need anything—maybe tomorrow . . ."

"Are you okay to make it home alone?" Jessa asked.  "I could drive you . . ."

Devlin waved off her concern with a wan smile.  "I'll be fine," he told her.

She watched as he veered off from them and trudged away with a heavy sigh, concern furrowing her brow as she bit her lip and crossed her arms over her chest.

"He'll be fine," Ashur assured her, stepping over to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

Kells sighed, too. "Daddy, I'm tired," he said.

"But you're carrying Puff-Puff," he reminded him.  "You want me to carry both of you?  What if Puff-Puff scratches me?"

Kells looked properly thoughtful about the situation.  "He'll be good, Daddy . . . He promised!"

Ashur chuckled.  "All right," he allowed, scooping up Kells.  The lynx just stared up at him, and Ashur couldn't quite decide if the small animal was trying to decide if he could trust him or how he might taste with a bit of salt . . .

Jessa fell into step beside him.  "There wasn't any sign of any other babies," she remarked.  "We looked around, but . . ."

"It's possible she only had the one," he said, taking Jessa's hand in his.  "Can't say that's not a bad thing, though.  More than one, and I'd be crazy for letting him keep them . . ."

"Is it against the law?"

Ashur shrugged.  "I'll look it up," he promised her.  "It wouldn't be a consideration if he couldn’t talk to him."

"Did you make an appointment with a photographer?"

"I did," he agreed.  "She was booked solid for the next few days, but she said if we were willing, she'd be happy to come over on Saturday to do them."

"You . . . You're okay with it?" she asked, almost reluctantly.

He chuckled.  "Why wouldn't I be?"

She let out a deep breath, like she hadn't actually been sure, at all.  "I . . . I wasn't sure if it was too . . . too sudden or anything . . ."

"I'm looking forward to it," he lied, mostly because he wasn't keen on the idea of posing for photos, but, given how excited Kells was about the whole thing, he was willing to do it.  After all, it wasn't every day that the boy finally got a mommy, now was it?

They walked in silence for awhile.  He could feel the slight shivering coming from Jessa and unconsciously quickened the pace a little.  It was warm enough during the day with the sun out, but as the sun disappeared on the horizon, the temperature was dropping fast—easily a good ten degrees since he'd left the house to find them.

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"If Jessa's my mommy now, does that mean I gets a brudder now, too?"

Ashur very nearly tripped.  "Uh . . ."

Jessa giggled.

He sighed.  "We'll . . . We'll talk about that, uh, later," he hedged.

Jessa giggled more.  "He wants to see me all fat and round," she murmured, sounding entirely amused by the whole idea.

"Yeah, well, that would be pretty damn cute," he remarked.  "Oh, and Ms. Thomas called.  It seems that the parents of the children who were picking on Kells would like to come by with their sons to apologize properly.  I said that would be fine—and I'd like to talk to them, anyway . . . She also wanted to extend their heartfelt and very sincere apology from the preschool and said that they'd love to have Kells come back if he wants—her words, not mine."

Jessa uttered a terse little 'hrmph' at that.  "I can check on other preschools," she offered.  "I don't like the idea of him going back there . . ."

"There are others," he allowed, "but that is the only one that serves strictly the youkai and hanyou population.  They also help them to learn how to channel and control their abilities, which was why I thought it'd be a good idea . . ."

She sighed, obviously still not agreeing.  "If you think it's best . . ." she muttered.

"I didn't say that.  I just thought that we can see what happens when the parents bring their boys over.  If it's not okay, then we can look elsewhere.  I'm not going to send him back if he really doesn't want to go."

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"I can tell them I gots a mommy now!" Kells said.  "An' I can show 'em Puff-Puff—an' I can make Puff-Puff attack if they're mean again!"

Ashur coughed, thankful that it was dark enough for Kells not to see his slight amusement.  "Well, you can't do that, but let's see how it goes."

Kells cuddled the lynx kitten closer and leaned his head against Ashur's shoulder.

Jessa sighed.

  
"You okay?"

She blinked and turned her head to peer up at him as the neared the veranda.  "Yes," she said, sounding anything but okay.

"What is it?" he pressed.

She sighed and shrugged, letting go of his hand to rub her arms through her sweater.  "Today would have been Da's birthday," she murmured.  "I wish . . . I wish you could see it—I wish we could go there . . . Dunborough . . ."

Holding the door open for her, he frowned.  "We could go there," he mused.  "I could try talking to MacDickbag, see if he'd be willing to relinquish your estate since we're mated.  I mean, I don't need it anyway, so I have no issue in signing it over to you, if that's what it takes to get him to release the hold on it . . ."

"Ashur!"

He blinked innocently.  "Was it something I said?"

She rolled her eyes.  "Should you be saying things like that around . . .?" Trailing off, she nodded toward Kells.

He chuckled.  "He's heard worse, I promise you."

Jessa sighed, and she didn't look very pleased by his backhanded 'reassurance', either.  "Do you . . .? Do you think that would work?  Like . . . Like you said before, if he'd at least left a will . . ."

"Your da?  He had a will," Nora remarked, looking up from the Dutch oven she was setting on the top of the stove.

Jessa blinked and turned to stare at the housekeeper.  "He did?"

Nora nodded.  "It'd be a bit stupid of him not to, wouldn't it?  Of course, he did . . . I think there ought to be a copy of it in the family vault."

"The family vault . . ." Jess repeated thoughtfully.

"Aye, at Dunborough . . . Oh, my . . . And just what have you brought home, Master Kells?"

Kells giggled as Ashur set him on his feet, and he ran over to show off Puff-Puff.

Jessa slowly turned to face Ashur, a questioning expression on her pretty face.  "Do you . . .?  Do you think . . .?"

He shrugged.  "If he did, then not even the tai-youkai can do a thing about it."

She didn't say anything as she stared at him, but the cautious light in her gaze said it all, and he chuckled.  "I'll call after dinner and make the arrangements."

"Thank you," she said, leaning up to kiss him.

He slipped his arms around her and sighed.  "Whatever you want, Jessa.  Whatever you want."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Savvyrae ——— patalaxe ——— minthegreen ——— Okmeamithinknow ——— Amanda Gauger
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _MacDickbag_ …?


	74. Loose Ends

Kells hopped up onto the bed and yanked the blankets up to his chin with a soft giggle as the lynx kitten leapt up to join him.  Jessa laughed and ruffled his hair.  "Did you brush your teeth?"

Giving one very large nod, Kells giggled again.  "So did Puff-Puff."

Puff-Puff was the name that Kells had decided on for the lynx.

Leaning in the doorway, Ashur chuckled.  "Puff-Puff's going to sleep in your bed?" he asked, levering himself away from the frame and ambling forward, hands dug deep into his pockets.

"Yeah," Kells insisted, giving the kitten a little hug.  "He says he'll be good."

Ashur nodded.  "All right . . ."

"Can we read _Leon the Lion?_ "

"How about we talk tonight instead of reading a story," Ashur suggested.

Kells didn't look very impressed by this idea, but he nodded.  "Oka-a-a-ay . . ."

Hunkering down beside the bed, Ashur reached over to ruffle the boy's hair.  "How did you feel about Billy and Tate's visit earlier?"

That question gave him pause, and Kells' little face scrunched up as he considered his father's question.  The boys, along with their parents, had come over earlier in the day to apologize, which, in Jessa's estimation, was probably something the parents had insisted upon, more than a true sense of being sorry.  Kells, however, had seemed pleased enough with the gesture, so Jessa figured that was all that really mattered, even if she was completely biased about it.

Ashur, however, had informed the parents in no uncertain terms that the circumstances of Kells' parentage was really none of their business.  Jessa wasn't sure if they were upset that they were called out on their gossip because he was the region's general, or if they genuinely felt bad for their parts in it, and she didn't care, as long as they'd learned their lessons, the lot of them . . .

"Well, I'm glad they're sorry," Kells finally said.

Ashur nodded slowly.  "Good . . . but let me ask you: do you want to go back to school or do you want us to find another one?"

Kells thought that one over, tapping his chin thoughtfully with the tip of his index finger.  "I do like Miss Tanner . . ." he ventured.

"Do you?"

He nodded.  "An' she asks me how my daddy is every day!"

"I'll bet she does," Jessa muttered under her breath.

Ashur smiled over Kells' head at her, and she narrowed her eyes.

"And remember, tomorrow, Uncle Ben and Aunt Charity are coming with the girls.  They'll be staying with you while we go to Ireland and get Jessa's estate settled," Ashur went on.

Kells nodded.  "'Cause Puff-Puff can't go on a pwane!"

Ashur chuckled.  "That's right."

Kells yawned, snuggling down under his blankets as the lynx kitten curled up against him.  "An' Nadi and Emmi can talk to him, too," he murmured, his voice growing a little thick as sleepiness set in.  That was entirely likely since the girls were cougar-youkai, which probably also meant that Ben ought to be able to talk to the lynx, as well.

Ashur leaned down, kissed the boy's forehead.  Jessa did the same, sparing another moment to rub Puff-Puff's head before letting Ashur take her hand to tug her out of the bedroom.

"I think I need to stop by the school and have a talk with Miss Tanner," Jessa remarked as Ashur led her down the hallway toward their room.

He chuckled.  "She's just being friendly," he pointed out.

She snorted, shoving a long lock of hair out of her face.  "Aye, and she can be a bit _less_ friendly with ye, ye ken?"

"And just why would I be interested in someone like her when I have a woman like you already?" he countered mildly.

She blushed slightly, but smiled.  A moment later, however, the smile faded, and she arched an eyebrow at him instead.  "Ashur?"

"Yes?"

Pursing her lips, she crossed her arms over her chest and stomped over to the closet to finish packing the things she was taking with her to Ireland.  "How many women have you been with?"

She heard him still, felt the way his youki took on a rather guarded air.  "That is a loaded question," he told her.

She made a face that he didn't see since she had her back to him.  "And you said that I should be comfortable asking you _anything_."

He sighed.  "I did say that, didn't I?"

"You did."

Another sigh.  "A . . . few," he muttered, his tone indicating that he was hoping she'd leave it at that.

She wrinkled her nose as she pivoted on her heel and stared at him.  "When a man says he's been with lots of women, it means that he hasn't.  If a man says, 'a few', then it means he's a tramp.  Are you a tramp, Ashur Philips?"

He considered that for a moment, then he sighed, slowly rubbing his forehead in a decidedly nervous kind of way.  "How about if I said that the only woman I've been with since meeting you is you?"

"Oh, my God!" she half-whimpered, covering her face with her hands.  "You're a whore!"

"Whore is a rather strong word," he protested.  "I mean, if you thought about it in terms of how old I am versus how many . . . It's a much lower percentage, and . . ." He grimaced.  "I'm not helping, am I?"

She snorted.  "No, you're not," she told him.

Heaving a sigh, he wandered over to her, slipped his arms around her to draw her close.  She resisted him for a minute, but finally let him.  "I only want you, Jessa.  You know that," he told her.

She made a face, looked rather chagrined.  "It's not that," she said, slowly slipping her arms up around his neck.  "It's just the idea that those women . . . That they know what you look like underneath your clothes . . ."

Ashur winced.  "If I could go back in time, I'd—"

She pushed against him to pin him with a rather dark look.  "How would you like it if there were a bunch of men out there that knew what I looked like naked?"

He snorted before he could stop himself.  "I'd kill them all," he grumbled.

She arched an eyebrow to emphasize her point, and he sighed.

"Tell me what I can do to make you feel better," he said in obvious effort to placate her.

She shook her head since there really wasn't anything he could do about it, letting her forehead rest against his shoulder despite the slight turmoil that still unsettled her.  She couldn't help it, she supposed.  Logically, she knew well enough that she really couldn't hold his past liaisons against him, especially given that he'd lived centuries before she was ever even a second thought.  That was of very little comfort, however, when the insular thought was enough to make her want to rip something to shreds—or burn things to a cinder . . .

"I'm sorry," he said, and he actually sounded sincere, which only served to make her feel just a little worse for her accusations.  "If I could take all those times back, I would.  I really would . . ."

She sighed.  "As long as it won't be happening again," she grumbled.

He chuckled softly.  "That will never be an issue, you know.  You're the only one I want—the only one I'll _ever_ want . . ."

Leaning against him for another long moment, she let out a deep breath, savoring the absolute sense of security that he offered her, the understated feeling that she was exactly where she wanted to be . . . The emotion was heady, almost frightening in its totality, wrapping around her, affording her a sense of well-being that was entirely hard to fathom, and yet . . .

"Ashur?"

"Hmm?"

She closed her eyes, her hand, resting on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating.  "I . . . I think you should take me to bed now . . ."

He chuckled—an entirely breathy sort of sound.  "Is that right . . .?"

She nodded, snuggling against him, letting her fingers trace tiny circles idly against his skin.  "I do," she allowed.

His response was a soft groan, a deep sigh, as he scooped her up and carried her to the bed . . .

 

* * *

 

 

"These are going to turn out so nicely," Meredith Solange exclaimed as she packed up her camera and tools.  "Between you three and the shots I got of Kells and the girls?  Ah!" she gasped in a show of rather blatant melodramatics, pausing long enough to press her hands against her chest, rolling her eyes toward the heavens.  Then she clapped her hands, her bright yellow curls bouncing with her exuberance.  "I can't wait to get back and to start processing them!"  Slipping the black canvas travel bag over her shoulder, she held a hand out to Jessa.  "You've got a gorgeous family, Jessa!" she insisted.

"Thank you . . . I'm looking forward to seeing the finished pictures," Jessa said.  Since Ben and Charity had arrived just before the photographer, they'd decided to do some with the children together and with both families, too, and there were a few of just Ben, Ashur, and Kells that she was looking forward to seeing, as well as some of Charity, Jessa, and the girls, too . . .

"I'll get these edited and ready for you all as fast as I can," Meredith said, grasping Jessa's hand and giving it a quick squeeze.

"There's no rush," Jessa insisted with a smile.  "We're getting ready to leave for Ireland shortly, and I'm not sure how long we'll be gone."

"I'll email you when the proofs are ready," she assured her.  "I must say, this has been the most fun I've had on a shoot in awhile!  It was so nice to meet you all!  You guys have a safe trip!  If I get back home fast enough, I might be able to process one or two in time for you to see before you take off!"

Jessa smiled as she watched the exuberant woman go as Ashur slipped an arm around her waist.  "Did you have a good time?"

She nodded.  "I did," she agreed.  "I think Kells and Puff-Puff had more fun, though."

Ashur chuckled, mostly because he'd very obviously enjoyed Ben's not-so-welcome reaction from the lynx in question.  Puff-Puff loved the girls right off, rubbing against their ankles, enjoying their squealing attention.  Ben, on the other hand . . .

Pressing her fingertips against her lips to keep from laughing outright, Jessa cleared her throat.  Ben had tried to greet the kitten by hunkering down before him.  The lynx, however, had hopped back, hissing, balling himself up in righteous indignation into a little tuft of poufy fur, spitting and yowling, and trying to smack Ben's hand when he reached out slowly to pet him.  Jessa figured that it was probably because the kitten recognized that Ben was an unfamiliar panther.  Ashur had said about the same thing out loud, and in the end, Ben had grasped Puff-Puff by the scruff of the neck and slowly held him at eye level, uttering a few terse sounds from low in his throat.  In the end, the kitten had finally acquiesced, albeit rather stiffly, and now, he refrained from showing open hostility, but he did take care to give Ben a very wide berth . . .

"We have to leave for the airport in about an hour," Ashur remarked.  "Do you need to pack anything last minute?"

She shook her head.  "I'm all ready," she told him.  "Nora's got her things together, too."

Ashur nodded.  Ben and Charity had brought Eddie along to take over for Nora while they were away.  Nora had decided that it might be best to come with them, given that they didn't want to encounter any trouble in trying to enter Dunborough.  Nora, as the housekeeper there, would be allowed in without question, so, if it came to that, she could sneak the two of them onto the estate without drawing any notice from the local authorities.  She'd said that they routinely came around to make sure that no one was trying to sneak onto the estate without permission, which really just meant that they drove up the long and winding driveway and came to the door to ask Nora if there was anyone else there, which there never were.

The only bad thing about the impromptu trip was that Ashur had said that he was expecting a few horses to be delivered any day—horses he'd ordered while she was in New York City with Myrna.  He hadn't really told her anything else about them, and he was acting rather suspicious, if she were completely honest, but he'd also told her that they were a gift for her, so she'd grudgingly left it at that.

It was her general hope that it wouldn't take long to get things straightened out in Ireland.  After all, if her father did have a copy of the will in the family vault, then Ashur was right: there wasn't a thing that anyone, including Ian MacDonnough, could say about it, and, failing that, then Ashur was her mate, so he ought to be granted full access to her estate, anyway.

About the only thing that couldn't be accomplished on this trip, though, was the official transfer of her father's title, but they'd have to be married for that to be done, and, as far as Jessa could tell, the thought of marriage hadn't actually occurred to Ashur yet.

Even then, she was youkai, as was he, and in their world, the mating was far more binding than a marriage ever would be.  She smiled to herself, turning toward him, resting her hand on his chest.  He raised an eyebrow in silent question, and she laughed softly.  "Do you think that we can convince Kells to spend a bit of time with us before we leave?  I mean, he's so excited . . ."

He chuckled, slipping his arms around her fully.  "Kells!" he called.

The boy dashed over with Puff-Puff fast on his heels.  "Yeah?"

Stepping back just far enough to hold out his arms, he chuckled again when Kells launched himself off of the ground, only to be caught securely against his father's shoulder.  "Mommy wants to spend some time with you before we have to leave for the airport.  Would that be all right with you?"

Kells nodded happily and immediately leaned away from Ashur, holding his arms out toward Jessa.  She took him and kissed his cheek before cuddling him against her shoulder.  "I'll miss you, Mommy," Kells told her.

Sinking down on the sofa, Jessa ruffled his hair and gave him a little squeeze.  "I'll miss you, too," she told him.

"An' Puff-Puff will miss you, too!" he exclaimed.

She laughed and reached down to stroke the kitten's head.  "And the two of you are going to be on your best behavior for Ben and Charity?"

He nodded one great nod.  "I pwomise!"

Ashur sat down beside her and rolled his eyes when Puff-Puff decided to hop into his lap.  "Good," he said, idly rubbing the lynx kitten.

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

Kells giggled.  "Are you gonna bring me back a present?"

Jessa laughed and hugged the boy close.  "Of course!  We'll bring back something for you and the girls, too."

"And Puff-Puff?"

Ashur heaved a sigh, but Jessa didn't miss the amusement lingering in the depths of his gaze.  "And something for Puff-Puff, too," he agreed.

Kells thought that over.  "And Aunt Chaiwwy?"

"Sure," he said.

"And Uncle Ben?"

Ashur snorted.  "Now you're pressing your luck."

"But Uncle Ben should get a present, too!" Kells insisted.

Ashur's lips twitched just slightly as he shot Jessa a quick glance.  "Okay, sure.  I'll pick up a gift card from a local shop for your uncle."

Kells seemed satisfied with that.  Jessa slowly shook her head despite the smile that tugged on her lips . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** xSerenityx020
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Amanda+Gauger ——— minthegreen ——— patalaxe
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Monsterkittie ——— Nate Grey ——— lianned88 ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _Ireland_ …


	75. Dunborough

It was beautiful.

Ashur had to admit, he wasn't entirely sure, what to expect, given that he hadn't actually been to Ireland before.  He supposed, if he'd stopped to consider it, he'd have just expected to find something much like London, maybe a little less crowded, but still, the general feeling would have been the same.

He was wrong.

Ireland felt like a completely different place, right down to the language.  It wasn't uncommon to hear people speak Gaelic or, failing that, English with such a heavy brogue that it sounded almost like another language entirely.

As it was, they had spent the bulk of the afternoon at a small café near the airport while Nora went on ahead to Dunborough.  They'd decided that it would be in their best interests to lay low, that Nora would come pick them up after dark, just in case anyone was watching the estate, which seemed a little farfetched to Jessa, but Ashur had ultimately agreed since the last thing that Ian MacDonnough might want was for Jessa to be able to access the estate just in case there did happen to be a copy of her father's will.  If they were lucky, there would be one in the family vault, as Nora seemed to believe.  However, given that Jessa actually didn't know that Nora was her aunt, then she also held a level of skepticism about the chance that there was another copy of the will, not because she didn't believe Nora, but more because, just how would a servant know of such a thing, in any case . . .

Just how, however, they were walking to a nearby shopping center where Nora was supposed to meet them, and Jessa was uncharacteristically quiet.  She had been for the most of the day since they'd landed.  A little distracted, a little pensive, and yet, when he'd asked her if she were all right, she'd smiled and said of course, she was . . .

But he didn't believe her.

' _So, figure it out, Kyouhei.  She's obviously thinking hard about something._ '

' _I've asked her a number of times.  Maybe she just isn't ready to talk about . . . whatever it is . . ._ '

' _And she's your mate.  Are you really going to give up that easily?_ '

' _It's not about giving up.  Maybe she just needs a little time to sort things out in her head before she can actually give voice to them.  Ever think of that?_ '

' _Okay, maybe, but you know, maybe you should at least reassure her that you're here with her; that she can tell us whatever she needs to say . . ._ '

Which was entirely sound advice, Ashur figured.  It really wasn't that hard to figure out, as far as he was concerned.  The last time she was here, she'd just lost her father, and she was then summarily escorted out of her home like she was little more than a trespasser in her own domain, and, while he could appreciate the circumstances that had brought her into his life on some level, he also wasn't foolish enough to try to convince himself that she had to be trying to deal with so many different emotions that it had to be exhausting, overwhelming, and even scary as hell . . .

Digging his hands deep into his pockets, Ashur stepped off the middle of the sidewalk, leaning against the railing that ran alongside Six Mile Water— _Abhainn na bhFiodh_ , to the locals.  She stopped, turning her face upward to stare at him, those mysterious reddish-brown eyes glowing softly in the waning daylight.  "Why are we stopping?" she finally asked when he said nothing despite the slight quirk of his lips.

He offered her an offhanded shrug.  "I know you've said that you're all right," he told her at length, gaze flicking over her head, taking in their surroundings.  "I just want to make sure you know you can tell me things, Jessa.  I _want_ you to tell me things . . . I want you to know that I'll listen, even if I can't help you—even if I don't know how to help you."

She sighed softly, more of a lifting of her shoulders than a sound, but she stepped toward him, slipped her arms around his waist, leaning against him.  "That's just it," she admitted quietly—so quietly that he had to strain to hear her.  "I don't know what I feel . . . Like, I ought to be strong, right?  But . . ."

He let out a deep breath, slipped his arms around her, too, ignoring that small voice deep down that tended to remind him that it was highly improper, these public shows of affection, and yet, she needed it, and if she needed it, then propriety be damned . . . "You don't have to be anything," he told her gently.  "You have me, remember?"

He grimaced when he felt the heat of her tears, dampening his shirt—tears that he couldn't hear, but he felt them, all the same: felt them and smelled them, and that was more than enough—enough to make him grit his teeth, enough to pull her a little closer, resting his cheek on her hair.

"I . . . I should be happy because he's with Ma now . . . I should be, but I . . ."

"You miss him—them," Ashur concluded.  "It's all right to miss them, you know.  Besides, did  you really ever have time to really grieve them?"

She heaved a tumultuous sigh.  "It's just . . . a little overwhelming," she mumbled.  "I walked down here with Da a few times . . . It feels like he's near . . ."

"Maybe he is," Ashur told her, then he sighed.  "Do you . . .?  If you'd rather, we can go get a hotel room for the night—give you some time to work things out in your head before you go back home . . ."

She sniffled and leaned away, but she managed a weak and watery little smile, tinged with sadness, but yet, a genuine smile, nonetheless.  "No, I . . . I want to go," she insisted.  "For every sad memory, I have happy ones, too . . . I . . . I'll show you around, if you'd like."

Smoothing her hair back out of her face, he smiled, too.  "I'd like that," he told her.  "You ready to go see if Nora's here yet?"

She thought about that for a moment, then she nodded, stepping back as her arms dropped to her sides once more.  Ashur straightened up and took her hand.

 

* * *

 

 

Wandering along the vast hills of Dunborough as the sun rose slowly over the horizon, Jessa rubbed her arms through the thick sweater—her own sweater—wondering if she ought to have grabbed a jacket before slipping out of the centuries-old castle.  Her soft black boots were dampened with dew, the crystalline droplets shining in the soft and gentle daylight that spread over the land in shades of pink and gold and purples.  The land she knew so well, had traversed them all until she knew it like the back of her hand . . . The crisp fall air that hung on the breeze, lending a familiarity that she welcomed despite the sense of _ault lang syne_ that accompanied that feeling . . .

She'd left Ashur sleeping soundly, loathe to wake him, given that he hadn't gotten any sleep on the plane, either, she hadn't had the heart to do it, and even then, maybe she really did need this precious time to straighten things out in her mind.

It was curious, wasn't it?  So many memories that just tumbled together with no real rhyme or reason . . . Nearly her entire life was here, and yet, if she were completely honest with herself, she'd have to admit that her future wasn't.  She could feel that in her very being.  She didn't want to live under the thumb of a tai-youkai who perverted the law to suit him—assuming that her father really had kept a copy of the will in question.  A tai-youkai who didn't care at all that she wasn't in love with the man he'd chosen for her to marry, especially given that she hadn't even met the tai-youkai, either, and then . . .

' _Ma . . ._ '

Grimacing as she finally allowed her mind to drift to the questions she'd tried so hard to ignore, Jessa rubbed a little more furiously at her arms, scrunched up her shoulders in a vain effort to chase away the chill in the air . . .

' _Did he . . .?  Did he have something to do with Ma's accident . . .?_ '

' _Do you really want an answer to that, lass?_ '

She didn't know.  Whether she did or didn't, maybe she deserved to know, though . . . But would the tai-youkai really go to those lengths to secure her marriage to whomever he'd chosen? It was one thing to suggest it, but to . . . to have arranged the accident that had killed Orlaith . . .?

And what would truly be the point of finding out, anyway?  There wasn't a thing that could be done, not to Ian MacDonnough.  If he had in some way suggested it or arranged it, there really was nothing she could do to challenge him, either, and that would leave her, what?  A burning anger, frustration, that she could do absolutely nothing to assuage?  Was that something she really wanted to own . . .?

Strange, wasn't it?  In all her life, in all of her dreams of her own future, when she'd dared to consider it, she'd never thought about leaving Ireland, not really.  She'd always taken it for granted that it would forever be her home, her place where she belonged.  That had all changed, hadn't it?  Because Ashur . . .

"Jessa!"

Stopping abruptly, she turned at the sound of that voice.  It was one she most definitely recognized, and she smiled as Ashur strode across the knoll, a thick quilt draped over one arm, a thermos dangling from his hand and a small basket swaying slightly in his free hand, his low hanging ponytail whipping over his shoulder.  For once, he was wearing a jacket over the usual white dress shirt and black slacks.  The jacket was of Donegal tweed; she'd helped him pick it out yesterday while they were killing time before meeting Nora.  It wasn't a fussy jacket, though, more of a casual thing, and she had to admit, it looked very good on him . . .

"Nora told me that you were probably out for a morning walk," he explained as he stopped beside her.  "Packed up a breakfast basket if you're hungry."

"Well, I suppose it would be rather rude to ignore it, then," she allowed, taking the quilt and turning around again.

"Are we heading somewhere in particular?" he asked.

She shrugged.  "Not far," she said.  "I just . . . I just wanted to see it . . ."

"You . . . You don't mind that I came to find you?"

"No," she assured him.  "I thought . . ."

"You thought, what?" he prompted gently when she trailed off.

She paused in her gait but continued on, cresting another rolling hill, smiling slightly as her eyes lit on her destination: her father's glen.  "I thought, you know, that if I could talk to Da anywhere, it might be here," she admitted.

A look of understanding surfaced on Ashur's face, and he nodded slowly, his gaze taking  in the ring of torches spaced at intervals in a circle.  "Your father's torches . . ."

She nodded, pausing just for a moment before striding forward, shaking out the quilt to spread it in the middle of the circle.  "It feels calm, like Da," she ventured, bracing her hands against the small of her back as she slowly looked around at the dormant and weathered sticks.

He smiled at her, set the thermos and basket on the blanket before stepping over to kiss her forehead.  "It's beautiful here."

She sighed, but it was a contented sound, and for just a moment, she felt the same emotion she had when she was little more than a toddler, brought out here on her father's arm . . . Closing her eyes, she stretched out her youki, used it to touch each of the sticks, to feel them . . .

Ashur's soft chuckle told her before she opened her eyes that she'd done it, that she'd managed to light them all.  "If your father can see this, then he's proud," he said.

"You . . . You think so?"

He nodded, holding out a hand to her.  She took it, let him lead her onto the blanket, sat back while she dug into the basket.  "Oh, my God!  Black pudding!" she half-groaned.  "Real black pudding!"

Ashur frowned when she pulled one out of the basket and shoved it under his nose.  Jerking back, he raised an eyebrow though he very slowly took it from her.  "That looks like sausage, but it doesn't smell like it . . ."

Jessa rolled her eyes as she dug another one out of the basket and bit into it.  "It's blood, fat, and oatmeal . . ."

He narrowed his eyes, lowering the sausage before he bit into it.  "Why did you say 'blood' first?"

She shrugged.  "It's mostly blood."

He dropped it.  "You know, I think I'll pass on that," he said.

She laughed.  "Try it!"

He shook his head.  "Rather not, thanks."

She sighed but dug out a paler version of the so-called black pudding and offered it to him instead.

He stared at it for a long moment before very slowly taking it from her.  "All right, what's in this one?"

She rolled her eyes.  "Basically, the same but without the blood, you ninny."

That one, at least, he did bite into, and he seemed almost surprised as he slowly chewed.  "This one isn't bad," he allowed.

She popped the last of her patty into her mouth.  "The black pudding is better," she told him.

"I'll take your word for it, Jessa."

Digging a couple slices of soda bread out of the basket, she handed Ashur one along with a lovely, crusty sausage.  She didn't tend to eat them like that, but he probably would.  She opted to slather hers with some orange marmalade—Nora had already buttered them.  "What's that?" she asked, pointing at the thermos.

"Tea, she said," Ashur replied.  "Want some?"

Jessa nodded, setting aside the bread as she reached for the thermos instead.  She uncapped the top and filled that cup for Ashur before removing the cup nestled to the bottom for herself.  Nora also remembered just how Jessa liked that, too, knew exactly how much cream to add to the tea, knew she preferred to take it with just a little touch of honey, which was entirely comforting.

The early October breeze carried with it the crispness of fall, the smell of the trees as they loosened their hold upon the lush greenery—slowly, almost selfishly at first—only to weaken that grasp as the colors shifted from green to brilliant golds, enchanting russets, glorious oranges, and as those hues took them, tendered them, mellowed them, the branches finally set them free, letting them float on the same winds.  It wasn't a process that was lost to Jessa.  No, in her own way, didn't she understand it all, maybe a little too well?

And yet, she knew, too . . . Stealing a glance at Ashur, who was sipping his tea and gazing over the glen with a hint of a smile on his face.  Biting her bottom lip as her heart curiously seemed to skip a beat, she let her gaze drop to the cup in her own hands, a secretive, almost enigmatic little grin on her own  features . . . That same feeling of letting go could lead to something much more brilliant, much more breathtaking, than anything else she'd ever dared to imagine . . .

' _Your Da, God rest him, he would have liked Ashur, too._ '

' _You . . . You think so?_ '

' _Oh, aye . . . You know, don't you, lamb?  Your da only ever wanted to see you smile, to know that you are loved, and Ashur?  That man . . . He loves you—_ really _loves you, loves you more than he loves himself—loves you more than maybe anything else in the world . . ._ '

' _Except Kells,_ ' she amended firmly.  ' _He needs to love Kells more.  Kells is a child, and—_ '

' _In an entirely different way than he loves Kells, surely, but don't ever doubt that he loves you at least as much, if it can truly be counted in that kind of way . . ._ '

Jessa would prefer not to compare it, and it wasn't because she was afraid that she ranked lower than Kells in Ashur's affections.  If anything, she didn't _want_ to rank higher.  Kells was a child—her child—and she couldn't help the smile that spread over her face in a radiant sort of glow as she reminded herself yet again that the boy really was hers, that he called her, 'mommy' . . .

"What are you thinking about, Jessa?"

She blinked, shot him an almost startled kind of glance as she fussed with the hem of her sweater.  "I was just . . . just thinking about Kells," she ventured slowly.

He chuckled.  "You miss him already?"

"Of course, I do," she replied.  "Don't you?"

"I do," he allowed with a nod as he dug his phone out of his pocket and fiddled with it for a moment.  "Not as much as I would, though, all things considered . . ."

She burst out laughing as she took the phone and shook her head slowly at the image of Kells and Puff-Puff and the girls, all sitting on the sofa with varying degrees of guilty expressions on their faces along with a few mangled couch cushions around them, along with huge tufts of stuffing that basically looked as though they'd exploded all over the room . . .

Ashur snorted, taking the phone back and stuffing it into his pocket once more.  "It's not nearly that amusing," he told her.  "I just bought that couch . . ."

"I'm sure they were just playing, Ashur," she reminded him.

He rolled his eyes.  "Somehow, that just doesn't really help.  Must have gotten that destructive habit from you, because I assure you, it didn't come from me . . ."

"I'll have you know that I've never been destru—" Cutting herself off abruptly, she couldn’t help the slight blush that surfaced in her cheeks.  "Not . . . _really_ . . . anyway . . ."

She didn't miss the way his eyebrows shot up in silent question, and she heaved a sigh.  "It doesn't count when it was a trove of Raggedy Ann dolls that I destroyed," she muttered defensively.

"Did you?"

She nodded once, tilting the tea to her lips as she willed away those unpleasant memories.

Ashur chuckled.  "Good for you."

For some reason, his quiet praise suddenly made her giggle as the almost ridiculous image of herself as a young girl flickered to life in her mind, as she remembered how upset she was, how angry, how hurt . . . and how she'd taken her claws to those dolls, one by one . . .

Ashur . . . Somehow, he'd started to make her see herself in a different light, hadn't he?  All of those hurtful, awful things that she'd always thought, that she'd believed, but he . . . He loved those things about her, even if she had no real idea, why that would be so . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
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> ==========
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>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Usagiseren05
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>  ** _AO3  
> _** minthegreen ——— patalaxe
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>  ** _Forum  
> _** — — —
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _Why does he love me_ …?


	76. Vault

"Your parents seemed to have liked having portraits done," Ashur remarked as he and Jessa wandered down one of the wide hallways on the lower level of the castle.  Very large paintings lined the walls at distinct intervals, all arranged in what seemed to be chronological order, starting with the portrait of Orlaith and Niall's wedding in a huge cathedral where they stood on the steps leading up to the raised dais with the train of her wedding gown arranged around their feet while her father wore very strict and rather uncomfortable looking clothes that, Ashur supposed, were quite appropriate, given the era in which they married.

The other ones, for the most part, seemed to have been done, perhaps a century removed from the previous one, at least, until they reached Jessa's birth.  The first one of those wasn't much more than a vague infant, swaddled in an impossibly ornate blanket that looked like it might be lace, but she wore a frilly little bonnet that effectively covered any hair she might have had.

She made a face.  "Ma said that the man she commissioned to do that one refused to paint it unless my hair was covered," she admitted softly, reaching out to finger the dried canvas.  "It's why Da's hair is clubbed back, too . . ."

"Because you have your father's hair . . ."

She nodded slowly.  "He mostly wore it back, though, and who would dare say anything to the marquess, anyway . . .?"

"Oh, now, that one . . ." Ashur chuckled, stopping before the next portrait.  This one was of her parents, of course, standing stoically, stiffly, with a very tiny Jessa in her mother's arms, her hair in full-bounce, framing that tiny face.  She couldn't be more than a year old or so in the image, captured so meticulously by the deft artist's hand, right down to the sparkle in her eyes, the slight hint of rose in her cheeks, in her tiny little mouth . . . Dressed like a little, living doll, she was, all turned out in yards of lace and ivory satin, her sash hanging down over her mother's arm . . .

Jessa laughed softly.  "Ma said that I threw a fit that day.  One of the stable cats had babies, and I wanted to see them, not stand to pose for a painting . . ."

The paintings continued on, only taking about a year interval between until she entered her teenage years.  Ashur's smile faded, though, the farther he moved on down the hallway.  None of them were ever smiling, and he supposed that maybe it was done that way on purpose.  Even so, that darkness that he'd seen in Jessa's eyes at the very beginning . . . It wasn't just there because she'd lost her family, was it?  No, it was there, long before that, and that . . . He didn't like it at all . . .

Just how long had she carried that kind of feeling around?  He'd heard the stories from Nora, knew her history well enough, but seeing the proof of it for himself, spread over years—a lifetime—in paintings?  It was brutal, and yet, he knew well enough that she'd hate it if he were to feel sorry for her, too.  All he really could do was to vow to himself that she would never, ever have a reason to feel that way, ever again . . .

She said nothing else, though, as they kept wandering along the hallway, but then, she'd grown up, seeing these paintings, and maybe she'd managed to separate herself from them slightly, and that made the difference to her.  Then again, he supposed that the portraits themselves were more of the old kind of works—the ones where people rarely smiled.  Still . . .

"Da has picture albums in the study," she ventured as they drew closer to the door at the end of the long hallway.  "If you want to see them, that is . . ."

He managed a little smile, just for her, and she returned it without seeming to notice the irritation in his own expression that he was trying to hide.  "More baby pictures of you, I hope?"

She laughed.  "Too many, if you ask me."

"Is there such a thing?" he teased, only feeling about half of it.

Reaching for the door handles, she paused a moment.  Maybe she was remembering her father, maybe she was simply gathering her own thoughts.  He wasn't sure, but he could feel her reluctance, a hint of ambivalence, and he reached out to give her just a little squeeze, just a bit of encouragement, and she drew a deep breath and swung the doors open.

Ashur stepped over the threshold, instantly engulfed by the scent of rich hardwood, of a certain dustiness that accompanied old tomes, of dried fountain pen ink and that slightly muted scent of wax candles . . . An underlying spice—something warm and inviting . . .

Jessa stepped past him, holding up a hand to ignite the fire on the huge hearth, illuminating everything with a toasty light in the otherwise darkish chamber.  Grey stone walls, darkened wood trim, a rather worn but entirely exquisite Persian rug that covered most of the floor that was still entirely vibrant, likely because the light that did filter through the scant windows didn't venture far into the room.

A crisp knock on the heavy oak door echoed in the quiet.  Before Ashur could get turned around, though, the door opened, and Nora let herself in with a polished wood tray, complete with a delicate, bone china tea service, hand painted with tiny sprays of autumn leaves and flowers, and an array of scones, breads, and an assortments of jams and such.  The older woman smiled and inclined her head to the two of them, gliding over to slip the tea tray onto the coffee table and stepping back again.  "Shall I serve you both?" she asked pleasantly.

Jessa reached up, touched the heavy, gold gilt framed portrait hanging over the fireplace mantle—a great slab of solid oak, darkened with age and the proximity to the fire that danced below.  The painting was of people Ashur didn't recognize—maybe her grandparents?  He wasn't sure.  "The vault is behind here?" she asked, still running her fingertips over the frame.

Nora laughed.  "Nay, child!  That would be a bit too easy, don't you think?  After all, that would be the rather obvious place, wouldn’t it?  There's a safe there, of course, but the family vault isn't there . . ."

Jessa frowned as she turned to face Nora.  "Then where . . .?"

Nora nodded, stepping toward a bookshelf against the far wall, beckoning Jessa to follow her.  She stopped before the floor to ceiling shelf, and she pointed at an obsidian statue that looked like dancing flames.  "Touch that and infuse your youki into it.  That should release the lock."

She shot Nora a questioning glance, but did as she'd instructed.  With a loud groan, the angled wall beside the shelf slid back slowly, and Ashur nodded to himself as the small room behind was revealed.

That room looked like it meshed perfectly into this one, and with the sliding panel pocketed into the wall, it was hard to see where the stones separated at all.  Inside the tiny chamber was a small desk, a very tall and narrow bookshelf that also extended from floor to ceiling, and the bottom shelves were drawers, each with brass handles, but no locks.  Where a lock might have been at one time were more of those black stones . . .

"Now, I have no idea where your da would have stashed that will," Nora said.  "I just know it's here somewhere.  There are other things in here, too, though—some things that you may not be quite ready to see.  The history of your family lives in here—good and bad.  Lord Aumberlese was nobody's fool.  You know his seal.  Look for that."  That said, the housekeeper hurried back over to pour the tea.

"Thank you," Jessa replied, giving the room a slow once-over.

Ashur stepped over to get a closer look while Jessa heaved a quiet sigh.

"This may take longer than I thought," she ventured at length, pressing her fingertip against the top drawer.  It unlocked with a soft, 'click'.

He felt her trepidation, the sense of her as she struggled to keep her emotions in check, he pulled her against him for a moment, long enough to give her an encouraging little squeeze.  "We've got time," he assured her.

She peered up over her shoulder at him.  "We do," she agreed.  He started to let his arms drop away, but she held on, her eyes still searching his features quietly.  "Thank you, Ashur . . ."

He kissed her forehead.  "You don't ever have to thank me for something like this," he told her.

She bit her lip, blushed slightly.

And she smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

Carl Kingston paced the floor of the large and airy luxury suite at the top of the Royale Concierge Hotel in downtown Quebec City.  The room—one of the best he'd ever stayed in, anywhere in the world—was decorated to be lush, lavish, yet entirely understatedly elegant, from the muted ivories, the rich, deep shades of rust and forest greens . . . It was entirely lost on him, though.  He had far more pressing matters on his mind . . . Ignoring the picturesque views from the myriad of windows that made up the formal living room, he stalked across the floor and back, hating the feeling that he was somehow being made a fool of.

It had taken far too long to track that man down; that Ashur Philips.  The younger brother of that grandstanding Ben Philips, right hand to the North American tai-youkai . . .

More unsettling, too, was that his own inquiries had gained him nothing, and, in the end, he'd been forced to resort to employing the services of a local man, who had finally managed to locate the newest of the Zelig's lapdogs.  Something about the weasel-youkai was entirely shifty, but he didn't have to like him in order to make use of him, and the information he'd managed to garner was solid enough.

The trouble was, he'd also returned with the news that Philips had left with the heiress, and if anyone knew where they had gone, not a single person was talking . . . It almost seemed like an unnatural kind of silence, and the only other thing he knew was that the older Philips was staying at the estate with the man's young child, indicating that he would be away for at least a little while.

Curse his rotten luck . . . His plan was sound enough.  She'd already given her word to the MacDonnough, hadn't she?  It was all but a done deal at this point.  So, he was merely going to . . . _insist_ . . . that she return to Europe with him.  Then he'd find that miserable son of his, by God, and beat some sense into him if he had to . . .

' _It's a simple setback, that's all . . . Patience . . . What's a week or two when our goal is so close we can taste it . . .?_ '

Drawing a deep breath meant to settle his sense of urgency, Carl nodded slowly.  He'd been patient enough, hadn't he?  He'd bided his time, he'd watched for the signs . . . It really was the perfect plan, after all.  If the legends proved accurate, then he would have the child he desired, and any other offspring from that union would just be the proverbial icing on the cake, and when the plan came to ultimate fruition, no one would have ever seen it coming—not that damned MacDonnough, not any of the other tai-youkai, and most certainly not that condescending bastard of an Inu no Taisho, either.  They and their ilk would be wiped off the face of creation in one mighty stroke, and then, he would be the ultimate power, and he could rebuild it all in the way that it should be—with him as the maestro, conducting the orchestra—the puppet-master—a _god_ . . .

All he needed was that girl and his son . . .

' _And Evalysse . . .?_ '

He snorted at the whispered and caustic words of his youkai-voice.  ' _What of her?_ '

' _You know that she could easily—_ easily _—foil your plans.  All she would have to say is the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong person . . ._ '

Stopping, drumming his razor-sharp claws on the table, he scowled at nothing in particular and everything in general.  ' _She is expendable,_ ' he growled.

His youkai-voice chuckled . . .

 

* * *

 

 

"And you're behaving for your uncle?"

"Yeah!" Kells exclaimed happily.  "I wanna bring Puff-Puff to school for show-n-tell, but Uncle Ben said no . . . but if you said I can, Mommy, then I could!"

Ashur chuckled at the very hopeful look on his young son's face, and, while he was tempted to back up Ben without hesitation, he waited to see just how Jessa would deal with this one, given that she hadn't really ever had to tell the child, 'no' before . . .

She shot him a raised-eyebrow-ed look, and he shrugged to indicate that he was going to defer to her judgment, which earned him a very narrow gaze, and he chuckled, turning his face away so that Kells didn't see his reaction over the video feed.

"Oh, Kells . . . I don't think it's a very good idea to take Puff-Puff to school . . . It might . . . might scare him, don't you think?  All of those children, and they'll all want to pick him up or play with him . . . Don't you think that might be a bit too much for him?"

Kells scrunched up his face as he considered what Jessa had suggested.  It was apparent that he hadn't thought about that.  "An' he wouldn't wike it?"

Jessa sighed, but smiled at the boy.  "Probably not . . ."

Kells heaved a sigh.  "O-O-Oka-a-a-ay . . ."  Suddenly, he brightened up, scooting forward where he was seated atop Ashur's desk.  "Mommy!  I miss you!" he exclaimed.  "Are you comin' home soon?"

"I hope so," she told him.  "I miss you so much, too."

"What about me?" Ashur asked.

"Oh, I miss you, too, Daddy," Kells said in a fast monotone.  "I miss my bedtime stories, Mommy . . ."

Ashur sighed and slowly shook his head.  "Great . . ."

Jessa giggled, adding insult to injury, as far as Ashur was concerned.  "Doesn't your aunt or uncle read to you?"

Kells let out a deep breath that made his lips rattle.  "Yeah, but you read the stories better," he ventured.

Jessa tilted her head to the side in the classic women's show of 'aww'.  "It won't be too long, Kells, I promise."

"Oh!  Can I take Humpty Dumpty for show-n-tell?"

Jessa laughed.  "Hmm, what do you think, Ashur?"

Ashur snorted at her sneaky attempt to pass the buck.  "Kells, we don't have a vehicle big enough to transport Humpty Dumpty to the school, so you can't for now."

Kells sighed.  "But what can I take for show-n-tell?"

"Why don't you take your necklace your mommy made for you?" Ashur suggested.

Kells perked up at that.  "Oh, yeah!  'Cause it's from my mommy!"

Ashur chuckled, dropping into the chair at the small desk in the vault room.  "That's right," he agreed.  His smile dimmed, however, when he caught sight of the thick manila, document-sized envelope that was half-hidden underneath the dark crimson ink blotter.  Pulling it loose, he read Jessa's name, scrawled on the front in bold, black ink.  He wasn't sure what was in the packet, but . . .

"Hey, Ash, Jessa . . . It's bedtime for a certain little boy, so say goodnight, Kells," Ben said as he strode into the frame.

Kells started to protest, but the wide yawn that interrupted him decided the battle.  "Okay," he agreed reluctantly.  "Night, Mommy."

The connection ended, and Jessa sighed, but whether it was because she missed Kells or because she'd have to resume her search, Ashur didn't know.  He figured it was probably a little from Column A, a little from Column B . . . "Jessa . . ."

"Hmm?"

"I think this could be it," he said, holding out the manila envelope out to her.

She turned and blinked at the mailer in his hand.  "Where did you find that?"

"It was half-hidden under the blotter," he told her.  "Is that your father's writing?"

She nodded slowly, hesitating as she reached out to take it.  The flap was sealed with a hunk of red wax, and when she tried to break it, a bright red haze shot to life around it.  "I . . . I think I need Da's ring to break it."

"Do you have it?"

Glancing at him, she seemed a little frightened, and he pulled her into his lap.  "It . . . It should be in their room," she said.  "I haven't been in there since . . ."

"Do you want to go get it?  Or I could . . . Nora would know it, wouldn’t she?"

She shook her head and leaned against him for a moment, staring at the envelope thoughtfully.  "I should," she finally said.  "Would you . . .?  Would you come with me?"

He smiled and pulled her closer, kissing her temple before she stood up again and took his hand.

She waited until he'd stepped out of the vault before pressing the button to close it back up once more.  "I didn't know anything about that room," she told him, peering up at him as he took her hand to lead her out of the study.

In the hallway, she didn't turn to head back along the corridor.  Instead, she veered off down a shorter one that he hadn't noticed, as absorbed as he was in the portraits that lined the walls on the way to the study.  There was a smaller, circular staircase there, though, and she shot him a quick glance before she started climbing.  "This goes straight to the master chamber," she told him.

There was a short landing at the top of the stairs, but the door here slipped aside easily, into a pocket in the wall.  They stepped inside, and she closed the door.  It didn't make a sound other than the soft click as it latched closed.  The master chamber was much brighter, much more airy than the study, adored with very obvious feminine touches—antique lace draped over thick tables, fresh floral arrangements in oranges and deep reds to celebrate the season . . . a plush ivory rug that took up most of the floor, softening the dark woods . . . Off-white antique Irish lace draped over the bed, over the deep green blanket underneath, hanging from the canopy, fluttering down the thick and ornately carved bedposts, six throw pillows, pillowcases decorated with the same Irish lace . . . Cream colored, heavy damask curtains, drawn back and held open with gold cords . . . The huge stone fireplace was stacked with wood, but not lit.  Jessa held out her hand, set that blaze going as Ashur sat on the very old but pristine sofa nearby.  It was a very formal kind of room, and, in many ways, it reminded Ashur of his parents' home back in Japan.  There was an overwhelming sense of space and placement that overrode the comfort that such a space should have offered.

Jessa wandered over to a pair of floor-to-ceiling wardrobes and pulled one of them open, her soft gasp audible in the quiet as she frowned at the contents—or lack thereof.  It was empty, and Ashur could only guess that the items contained within had already been packed up by someone—strange, actually, given that Jessa's things were as she had left them, she'd said . . .

Pulling open a thin wood drawer, she stared inside for a long moment before slowly, carefully lifting out what looked to be a gold signet ring.  Then she closed the drawer and the wardrobe and ventured back to the sofa to sit next to Ashur.  "Nora . . . She must have put away Ma and Da's things . . . She wanted to do that after Ma died, but Da forbade it . . . but she left the signet ring . . ."

"And it bothers you," he said.  It wasn't a question.

She shook her head, then she nodded.  "Yes . . . No . . . I understand why.  It's just . . . It . . ." She winced.  "It feels so . . . so final . . ." Leaning against him, she looked around slowly.  Ma decorated this chamber in Da's and her colors: dark blue and pink . . . Nora redid it . . . for . . ." she bit her lip.  "For me . . ."

"Your color . . .?"

Her gaze shifted back to him once more, staring at him for a long moment before she released her concealment, and she held up her hand to reveal a few small marks, almost like flames, on the back of her right hand and just a shade or two lighter than her actual skintone: ivory flames . . .

He sighed, leaning back to pull her closer to his side as he took her right hand, kissed the back of it exactly where the flames appeared.  "If you're not ready to open that, then it can wait," he told her.

She shot him a grateful little smile—almost a grimace, really.  "It's not going to feel any better if I wait," she said.  "It won't bring them back or . . . Or change anything.  Da always said that if there was something I dreaded to do, that I should just do it because the dread only grows, the longer I put it off."

"But they were your parents," he told her gently.  "That's a little different."

She nodded, drawing a deep breath as she sat up straight, staring at the signet ring before deftly slipping it onto the middle finger of her right hand.  It seemed to fit her perfectly, and she half-winced.  "It . . . It knows that Da's passed it on to me," she said quietly, unhappily.  "It was much bigger when he wore it . . ."

The deep red stone—garnet, maybe?—seemed to take on a certain glow, and she bit her lip as she turned her hand, as she pressed it against the wax seal.  It erupted into an insular flame for several seconds before dying out completely.  There were no scorch marks on the envelope, and the flap popped open easily enough as she sighed.

She started to reach into the envelope, started to pull the contents free.  Suddenly, though, she handed it to Ashur, burying her face against his chest.

He didn't know if she was worried that it wasn't a copy of the will or if she was afraid that it was.  Given that she was struggling with her feelings, it wasn't surprising . . . It had to be crazy-overwhelming for her, and he hated the idea that there really wasn't a whole lot he could do for her . . .

Drawing a deep breath, he pulled the contents from the envelope.  There was a note on top from Niall . . .

 

.

 

" _'My darlin' lass_ , 

" _'I thought that it'd be best to leave you with a legal copy of your ma and my will, just in case the MacDonnough should try to give you trouble.  I pray that you'll not need it, and that, when you find this, you'll be a far sight older than you are now.  Always know that we loved you more than anything in the world, my lass_.

" _'Your_ ,  
" _'Da_.'"

 

.

 

"The will," she breathed, blinking back tears that caught in Ashur's nose, that made him grimace inwardly.  He sighed and let the note and the will drop to his lap, frowning instead at the two envelopes and a thinner stack of papers.  The papers seemed to be written on very old and very ancient parchment—some kind of royal decree?   One of the thick paper envelopes was addressed in a feminine hand to Jessa.  The other?  In her father's writing, addressed to . . . _'Our Jessa's Future Mate_ ' . . .

"Da wrote you a letter?" she asked, reaching out to touch the corner of the envelope, ignoring the one with her name on it.

"It would seem that way," he allowed.  "Any idea why?"

She shook her head.  "Are you going to read it?"

He shrugged.  "Do you want me to?"

She sighed.  "Maybe later," she said.  "Right now, I'd rather just make sure that the will is real . . . It's enough, isn't it?"

"It is," he said.  "Well, as long as it's official, as he said it was."

"Then . . . Then we can take it to Lord MacDonnough and be shut of it?"

Ashur frowned.  "Is that what you want to do?  I could go alone—I'd _rather_ go alone."

"I . . . I don't want to do any of this," she admitted ruefully.  "But it might be better if I came, too . . ."

He didn't like the idea; didn't like it at all.  Given what he knew about the European tai-youkai, given that they now knew for real that the man had lied through his teeth about Jessa's father's will . . .

Well, that would end, wouldn’t it?  One way or another, Ian MacDonnough was going to have to stand down because, as far as Ashur could tell, the man had just ran out of viable options for whatever he was trying to accomplish . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ ** _=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=_** ~
> 
>  
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
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> ==========
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>  ** _MMorg  
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>  ** _AO3  
> _** Okmeamithinknow ——— patalaxe
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _A letter to me_ …?


	77. Toxic

Ashur followed the butler down the corridor to the closed door of the European tai-youkai's office and stopped to wait with Jessa beside him, holding the copy of her father's will in her hands.  She shot him a quick glance, and he nodded.  As much as he hated to admit as much to her, he wasn't entirely sure, exactly what MacDonnough would say when faced with the proof that he'd been lying this whole time—or maybe not lying if he had, in fact, misplaced the copy of the will that had been handed over in trust.  Even so, that idea seemed just a little farfetched and entirely too convenient, in Ashur's estimation.  Whatever the case, it wouldn't really matter.  Jessa held the upper hand now, and there wasn't really a thing MacDonnough could do about it since it wouldn't be wise of him to try to beleaguer the point any longer.  With the absolute copy of the will, entirely notarized and officially witnessed, all Jessa would really have to do, if it came to that, was to present the document to Sesshoumaru Inutaisho, and he would have no choice but to override MacDonnough on this.

Which wasn't to say that Ashur thought for a moment that MacDonnough might well still try to use whatever stall tactics he had left at his disposal, just to be difficult.  It wouldn't matter in the long run, anyway, because, approval or not, Jessa was already his mate, and nothing short of death would separate them, and even death in its own way would be a transient separation, at best . . .

"My lord, Mr. Ashur Philips and the Lady O'Shea are here to see you," the butler said, poking his head into the office.

Ashur heard the tai-youkai's heavy sigh, as though he was being sorely put-upon.  "Fine.  Show them in."

The butler stepped back to allow Ashur and Jessa to enter and closed the door behind them.

MacDonnough was seated behind his prodigious desk, looking anything but pleased, given the unscheduled visit.

"Ah, the Zelig's newest general . . . and Lady O'Shea . . . To what do I owe the honor of your visit?" MacDonnough drawled, sounding anything but sincere and managing to inflict a full dose of venom into his otherwise cordial greeting as he slowly rose to his feet, drawing himself up to his full height, doubtless in an attempt to intimidate the both of them.  The gesture was lost on Ashur.  Jessa moved a little closer to his side.

"We've come to let you know that Jessa is now my mate," Ashur said, tone flat, almost bored.  "Jessa also thought that it'd be wise to inform you that she found a fully legitimate copy of her father's will—the same as the one that you have to have in your possession, given that he filed the same document with  you."

Ashur could feel the spike in the tai-youkai's youki, the abrasive quality that seemed to stagnate the very air permeating the opulent chamber.  "I assure you, had I received the will, everything would have long been taken care of in an efficient manner," MacDonnough replied smoothly, though not before Ashur saw the way the man stiffened momentarily, the slight flaring of his steely gray eyes . . . "Let me have it, and I'll look it over when I have time."

Ashur's hand grasped Jessa's wrist before she could comply.  "I don't think so," he countered.  "Given that the other copy was . . . misplaced . . . we would hate to see that happen to this one.  Jessa's holding the official one, but should you need one to look over . . ." He dug a copy of it out of his pocket and stepped forward to hand it over.  "We'll hang onto the original.  You understand."

MacDonnough slowly took the document, leveling a baleful glower at Ashur for his trouble.  "I assume the lady told you that she is not free to choose her own mate."

"Give up," Ashur growled.  "She's my mate, and it's really none of your business."

MacDonnough's face twisted into a cynical little sneer that only loosely resembled a smile.  "Except that there's the question of her father's title that needs to be addressed."

"I found the letters patent," Jessa spoke out.  "The marquissate of Aumberlese's patent expressly states that the title shall be bestowed upon my mate, should my parents fail to produce a son.  It has nothing at all to do with you.  So decreed by His Royal Highness, King George I in 1716, when the marquissate was first created because he was fully aware of the existence of youkai.  I have already taken the liberty of writing to the appropriate offices to have the title transferred as soon as possible."

"Which means very little when they will ask me for my opinion on the matter," MacDonnough replied .

"It's interesting," Ashur said before Jessa could reply.  "Niall O'Shea was convinced that Orlaith's death wasn't an accident at all," he went on.  "Now, Jessa would like to let go of the whole matter since it really won't do a thing to bring her parents back, but I'm not as convinced.  As the man who stands to gain this title, it'd be well within my right to file a formal inquiry about the matter with the local authorities . . . However, I could be persuaded to let it drop . . . if . . ."

Silver eyes flashing dangerously, MacDonnough glared at Jessa, and then at Ashur, before shifting his gaze to the copy of the will in his hands.  He'd understood Ashur's not-so-subtle threat easily enough.  He'd have to be stupid not to, and, though there were many things that MacDonnough was, stupid was not among them, and whether MacDonnough had ordered someone else to tamper with the fuel lines or not, he was the ultimate mastermind, wasn't he?  Despite the thickness of the actual will, the most important parts of it were in the first few pages, and MacDonnough's jaw ticked as he slowly read through it all.  "I . . . accept that this is a copy of your father's _Last Will and Testament_ ," he finally ground out, holding out his hand impatiently for the official copy that Jessa still held.  "I assume that you had the foresight to bring your signet ring?"

Ashur managed to keep his expression blanked as Jessa stepped forward.  MacDonnough leafed through her copy, making sure that it was exactly the same, Ashur supposed, and he looked like he might well be positively seething as he stuck a stick of red sealing wax into the flame of a candle burning on his desk.  After a few moments, he smeared the wax onto the first page of the document, followed in quick order by smashing his signet ring into the melted wax before handing the stick to Jessa to repeat the process.  She did, and he handed it over to her, snatching up the photocopy with a darkened scowl.  "I shall arrange the release of all of your accounts and properties by the end of the day,"  he growled.  "I trust that concludes your business here?"

Satisfied that they'd gotten everything that they'd come for, Ashur pasted on a tepid smile, mostly to irritate the tai-youkai just a little more.  "We can see ourselves out," he offered.  "By the end of the day," he repeated.

MacDonnough flicked a hand dismissively as he flopped down in his chair once more.  "On my word," he gritted out.

Ashur nodded and held the door open for Jessa.

She said nothing until they were safely closed in the rental car once more, and then, she sighed.  "He . . . He's really angry, isn't he?"

"Of course, he is."

She bit her lip, staring out the window as Ashur negotiated the car along the winding driveway of the tai-youkai's estate.  "And . . . And it'll be over when he releases everything?  Do you think he'll do it?"

Ashur shot her a quick smile.  "It'd be stupid for him to drag it out," he told her.  "No, I don't think he will."

She heaved a sigh—a long, dark sigh full of emotions she hadn't really articulated since they'd finally discovered her father's will.  Turning her attention out the window once more, she seemed to settle in for the long drive back to Belfast.

  
Letting out a deep breath, he refreshed his grip on the steering wheel.  "Do you want to find a hotel for the night?" he asked.  He didn't mind the drive at all, but she seemed more than a little restless.  She hadn't gotten much sleep last night, tossing and turning well into the night, only to doze off just before he'd had to wake her so that they could get a very early start on the five hour drive up into the Highlands of Scotland where Ian MacDonnough liked to hole up.  But she also hadn't wanted to put the altercation off for even one more day, not that he could blame her.  She wanted to go home, she said, so the sooner they could get things squared away, the better.

"Only if you want to," she replied.  "I just want to finish putting things to rights . . . I miss Kells."

She also hadn't yet read the letter from her mother, either.  Of course, Ashur hadn't read the one from her father, but somehow, he felt like he ought to wait until she was ready before he did . . .

And then, there was the whole title thing, too, and, truthfully, Ashur wasn't too keen on the idea of being bestowed with the title of the next Marquess of Aumberlese . . . Jessa had assured him that it wasn't really a big deal, that he wouldn't be required to do much of anything, but it would allow them to keep the estate of Aumberlese, which, in her mind, wasn't that big of a deal, but, given that it had been in her family since the early 1700s, she wanted to keep it.

Which wouldn't have been an issue otherwise, but, given that the wording of the letters patent, given that the entire thing was set up so long ago, back before it became more commonplace for women to be allowed to inherit their father's titles, it was worded in such a way that allowed for the title to be kept from being abandoned.  She'd mentioned, too, that the last time the Marquess of Aumberlese had been asked to sit in at the House of Lords was in her grandfather's day, so it wouldn't be an issue that they'd rarely be in Great Britain, anyway.  The only thing that might be required, and that was only if someone decided to raise a fuss over it, was that he might well have to gain citizenship in the UK, but they'd worry about that if it became an issue later.

Ashur sighed.  In truth, it was hard to believe that all of this was nearly finished—something that really shouldn't have taken the length of time that it had, and, had her father not had the foresight to keep a copy of the will, then it'd still all be up in the air . . .

It'd all be done, hopefully within hours . . . as long as MacDonnough kept his word, anyway . . .

 

* * *

 

 

Jessa let out a deep breath and tugged on the belt of the thick and cozy robe before stepping out of the master bathroom and into the airy bedroom, fighting to ignore the bittersweet pang that shot through her as she tried not to think about her parents, as she tried not to hear their laughter, their murmured words . . .

She wasn't at all sure that she liked being put in here, but she also felt like it was something she had to do, that, like it or not, it was a change that she would have to deal with at some point.  Maybe it would bother her as much at the other estates, but here, where she'd spent the bulk of her time during her growing-up-years . . .

And she frowned.  Ashur, as sweet as he was trying to be, felt so distant to her here, so. . . removed.  Maybe it was all in her own head, but she couldn't stand that feeling, either.  Perhaps it had something to do with the more formal feel Dunborough held.  Funny how she'd never noticed that before.  Something about it seemed to lend Ashur a far more commanding kind of air, almost an inapproachable quality, even if it was all in her head.

Ashur strode into the bedroom, holding the will in one hand, a thoughtful frown on his face as he held the phone to his ear.  "No, that would be fine," he said, stepping aside as Nora hurried in behind him, pushing a tray of covered dishes arranged on a cart.  "Thank you for your expediency."

Nora said nothing, pushing the cart over to the small table near the towering window nearby.

Ashur ended the phone call and dropped the device into his pocket before turning to face Jessa.  "That was MacDonnough.  He's released the holds on all of your accounts—now all in your name—and has issued a courier with your parents' death certificates so that everything else can be handled by Lachlan Dunbyrne, your family attorney.  So, unless there's anything else that he might need, we're free to go home whenever you wish . . . but there's no hurry.  I mean, if you want to stay here longer, we could always fly Kells over . . ."

She smiled and stepped forward to slip her arms around his waist.  "I don't want him to miss school, and I don't know how hard it'd be to have Puff-Puff brought over, too . . ."

Nora finished setting up their dinner and then pushed the cart out of the room once more and closed the door behind herself.

Ashur rubbed her back idly, slowly.  "Do you want me to go ahead and book a flight home?"

She considered that and nodded as she held onto him for another long moment before letting her arms drop away.  "I just want things to be normal for awhile," she said.  "I want to catch my breath so that I . . . I want— _need_ —to know where I stand with . . . with you . . . with everything . . ."

Ashur chuckled and pulled out a chair at the table for Jessa.  "That's easy for me," he told her.  "You . . . You stand above everything to me."

"Except Kells," she corrected, arching a delicate brow at him.

Slipping into his chair, he shrugged.  "Why?  Why do I need to put one of you above the other?  The two of you . . . You're both the parts that make up the greatest portion of who I am . . . If I were missing either of you, I . . ." He grimaced, gaze falling to the plate before him.  "I need both of you."

She considered his words as she reached for her fork, as she picked at the lamb stew that smelled absolutely delicious, and the appetite that had been missing for the last few days suddenly reared its head as her stomach grumbled loudly.  "And do you have enough space in there for more?"

"More?" he echoed, handing her a thick slice of bread from the basket in the center of the table.  "More, what?"

Shrugging in what she hoped was an off-handed kind of way, she stabbed a hunk of meat.  "More children," she said simply.  "I mean, whenever . . ."

"You . . . You want more children . . .?"

Biting her lip as she spared a glance at him, she could only blink and stare at the cautious sense of wonder in his expression.  "W-Well, I-I-I . . . Sometime," she blurted, cheeks pinking as she set her fork aside.  "A-A-Any time . . ."

He smiled, a cautious, almost timid smile.  "Any time?"

She grimaced.  "It's just . . . You know, I always wondered what it'd be like, if I had a brother or a sister . . . I was always a little jealous of the other children . . . There was a girl in my dance class who had a twin brother, and they were so close . . ."

Ashur considered that and slowly nodded.  "I can understand that," he allowed.  "I mean, I often wondered that, myself.  We were all born so far apart that it was like being an only child."

Suddenly, she giggled, lifting her fork again.  "You know, I always thought that humans were lucky."

"Lucky?" he repeated?  What do you mean by that?"

She shrugged.  "I just think it'd be neat, not knowing the very moment you got pregnant . . . Everything's so planned out with us . . . I think that would be a very interesting thing . . ."

He chuckled.  "What are you saying?" he parried, reaching for his wine glass as he settled back in his chair.

She frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "Can you do that?  Can you surprise me with a baby?  I mean, whenever it feels right?"

He blinked and slowly shook his head.  "So, you're saying you want me to . . . just decide when to get you pregnant and not tell you or discuss it with you first?"

She considered that, and then she nodded.  "I think it would be fun not to know," she allowed.

He laughed, draining the glass in one long, slow quaff.  "If that's what you want," he told her.  "Let's get your estate settled first and see what happens from there."

Popping a small chunk of potato into her mouth, she couldn't help the smile that kept resurfacing.  "A darling little boy who looks like you and Kells . . ." she murmured.

He rolled his eyes.  "What about a sweet little girl who looks just like you?"

She made a face and quickly shook her head.  "Another Raggedy Ann?  No, thank you . . ."

He grunted.  "I, for one, think that she'd be just as beautiful as her mama."

Jessa blushed, but didn't reply to that.  She still had no idea, just what he thought whenever he looked at her, but . . . but that was all right, wasn't it?  It was enough for her that he really, genuinely believed it, even if she wasn't entirely convinced . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Goldeninugoddess ——— oblivion bringr
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Monsterkittie ——— patalaxe ——— Alex Van Vuren ——— minthegreen ——— Savvyrae ——— Okmeamithinknow
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Crow ——— monsterkittie ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _He's mad!_


	78. My Wish

" _Da!  Watch me, Da!_ "

The tall Irishman with hair as deeply auburn as Jessa's threw his head back and laughed, a great, warm, belly laugh while the small girl smiled so brilliantly, curls bouncing as the small horse she was riding cantered around the man.  As small as Jessa was in the video—maybe three?—it was still very plain to see that, even back then, she was born to ride.

Nora slipped into the study with a coffee tray.  He'd told her earlier that Jessa was still sleeping and that he'd rather wait for breakfast until she woke up, and that he'd just borrow the office in order to check his email and to make the arrangements for their return home, but she'd offered to bring him coffee, and he'd figured that was all right.  Then she'd pointed out that Niall had kept a lot of the old videos of their family as well as files of random snapshots on the house server.

He'd lost track of how long he'd been sitting here, in her father's office, watching videos stored on the computer.  He'd already sent all of it to a spare zip drive that he'd found still in the packaging.  Kells would love seeing Jessa as a girl, and Ashur?  Well, he had to admit that he wouldn't mind, watching them all again a time or ten himself . . .

"Thank you," he said, reaching for the cup that she'd just filled for him.  "I was able to book a flight home for Wednesday."

She nodded.  "That's fine.  Should I start addressing you as Lord Aumberlese?"

A measure of his overall good mood vanished, and he sighed.  "Must you?"

She smiled at his very obvious reticence.  "It's proper," she told him.

He made a face.  "How about you do that when we're here, then, but you can drop it in Canada."

"But it will make the new Lady Aumberlese very happy."

He sighed and shot her a very pointed look. Then he blinked.  "If they're transferring her father's title to me, what does that mean for Kells?"

"Well, given that he is related to you by blood—one way or another—then he can be recognized as your legitimate heir—if that's what Jessa wants, as well, though it can wait until he is formally adopted by her, too.  Then he would be known as The Right Honorable The Earl of Cantaven."

Ashur snorted.  "And how does that work?"

Nora laughed.  "Your lesser title is the Earl of Cantaven, and as your recognized heir, he would use your lesser title until such time that you died.  Then he would take your title and hold the Earl of Cantaven in reserve until he had a son of his own."

Rolling his eyes, Ashur sipped the coffee and grunted, the sound muffled by the fine bone china cup.  "You Brits are a weird."

She laughed again and refilled his cup before setting the pot down and heading for the door.  "I believe that Jessa is awake, so I'll have breakfast ready in short order."

He sighed again as she slipped out of the room, making a face as he wondered just how his life had gotten quite so complicated.

' _Look at the bright side.  At least you're not a duke . . ._ '

Ashur grunted.  ' _That's the bright side . . .?_ '

' _Sure, it is. I mean, if you were a duke, just think of how much more crap you'd have to deal with.  I mean, they're just a step under royalty, right?_ '

Ashur supposed that, if he had to consider it in such a way, that his youkai-voice had a point—kind of.  Devlin had alluded to as much, saying what a pain it would one day be, when he ever inherited his father's title.

Frowning thoughtfully as his gaze lit on the still-unopened letter that was enclosed with the will—the one addressed to Jessa's future mate . . .

He hadn't opened it yet.  It wasn't that he was trying to avoid it, no, but he'd thought to wait until she was ready to open the one from her mother.  Even so, he couldn’t say that he wasn't a little curious to see just what her father might have wanted to tell him—something important enough o make him write a letter to someone he didn't yet know . . .

Reaching for the envelope, running his fingertips over the lovely texture of the paper, he sucked in a cheek, picked it up, turning it over to stare at the smudge of red sealing wax that held it closed.  Such an archaic kind of thing, and yet, in this place, it seemed wholly right, didn't it?

Drawing a deep breath, he slipped a finger under the flap, broke the seal, pulled out the folded linen stationery, embossed in the middle of the page with the seal of the Marquess of Aumberlese.

 

.

 

 _To the One My Jessa has Chosen_ , 

 _I apologize that I am not there to greet you in person, as should be done.  My days grow short, and my heart heavy when I think that she will be left alone, when I realize that, as her father, I have failed her_. 

 _I write to you in hopes that I can impress upon you, just how rare, how beautiful, my daughter is.  Of course, I would think so.  I confess, I am a bit biased, but indulge me when I say that I have watched her from the first, and I ken her faults.  Stubborn, she is, and she gets some entirely farfetched notions in her head, too.  I imagine that, at this point, you know that, too.  Despite that, though, my lass has a sweetness, a giving  nature that she inherited squarely from her beautiful mother_. 

 _I don't presume to tell you things about her now, however.  I imagine that, if the two of you have committed yourselves one to the other, then you already know all of the things that, as her father, I would feel compelled to tell you.  What I do want you to know is about her mother.  It's my fault that she is dead.  I never listened to her, I paid no heed to her worries.  Don't be stupid, I'd told her.  No one is trying to kill you . . . No one would dare_ . . .

 

 _Those are the things I said to Orlie when she tried to tell me her fears.  Now, I wonder, just what kind of a mate was I, that I was so quick to laugh, to_ scoff, _to dismiss her worries without even a second thought.  It was my shortsightedness that has brought this about.  I'm the reason why my darling lass is left alone now_.

 _That was my misjudgment.  I only pray that I am right; that I am speaking now to you, her mate of her heart.  But I plead that you listen to me now, that you hear those things that I didn't want to hear_.

 _Duke Portsmouth is the one behind all of this.  He has the backing of the MacDonnough, who also tried to coerce me into allowing such an unholy union.   I held my ground against the both of them.  I tried, but I cannot fathom the reasons, the whys.  Portsmouth wants his son to be married to Jessa, and the lengths that he's gone to are truly mind boggling.  I leave it up to you, as Jessa's mate, to figure that part out.  All of this came about because I refused his offer, because I wouldn't bow to the will of the MacDonnough, either, because I told them both that I wouldn’t presume to take Jessa's choice away from her.  Now, I assume that you are truly the one she has chosen, that she wouldn't be looking for my will if she didn't need it_.

 _Take her out of this accursed land.  Take her somewhere where she'll be safe, where she can live and flourish, well beyond the reaches of our illustrious tai-youkai.  It was something I should have done myself, but I . . . I was ignorant, foolish, and mayhap a little arrogant, too—fool enough to believe that I could stand against them and win_.

 _Be a better protector—a better mate—than I was.  Show my daughter that there is still happiness in the world.  Give her the life I always wanted for her, and love her—just love her—as I have always done.  She is now yours, and I give her to your keeping_.

 _My Deepest Regards_ ,  
_Niall O'Shea_ -  
_Marquess of Aumberlese_.

 

.

 

Letting the letter fall closed on his fingers, Ashur rubbed his temple, as he struggled to make sense of the words contained therein—the wishes of a dying father for his beloved daughter.

And the warning.

Just what was it that the Duke of Portsmouth really wanted?  Why . . .?  Why would he go to such lengths to see his son mated to Jessa, in the first place?  To commit murder, just to secure what he wanted?  And yet, the only one who really could answer that was Portsmouth himself . . .

Or maybe . . .

' _Devlin . . . He might well know more than he's said . . ._ '

It was possible, sure, or maybe he didn't realize that he did know more.  He'd said that he didn't rightfully know why his father might have become fixated on Jessa, in the first place.  Even so . . .

' _Why don't we look up the . . . good duke?  Maybe we could get some answers out of him . . ._ '

Ashur gritted his teeth, his gaze darkening as he stuffed the letter back into the envelope.  As much as he might well like to do that, he didn't really want to have Jessa anywhere near for that particular discussion.  After all, if the man had resorted to murder once, he could very well do it again, regardless of the idea that Jessa was Ashur's true mate . . . No, the best course was to talk to Devlin about it again, see if he might know anything that he hadn't mentioned already.  Failing that, maybe Ben could ferret out some information that was eluding them thus far.  He'd talk to him as soon as he got back to Quebec City . . .

With a sigh, he started the next video, more for a sorely needed distraction, a redirection of his thoughts, than anything else.  Deliberately letting go of the darker thoughts, he focused on the video instead, breaking into a slight smile as the sound of muffled music began.  Whoever was taking the video—her mother or father, he supposed—was sitting in the midst of an assembly of parents who broke into applause as a group of girls—maybe twelve of them, all around the age of four or five, he'd guess—filed onto the brightly lit stage against a dark green velvet curtain.  Jessa stood in the midst of them, her hair pulled back into a French braid, even though tendrils of curls had already escaped the careful coiffure.  Wearing a black satin dress with long sleeves and a flared miniskirt that was embellished with very intricate embroidery along the white accents, she looked the same as all the other girls, and yet, there was something about her that stood out, even back then.

The clicking and stomping of the dance was wonderfully executed, as far as he could tell.  His smile widened as he watched the video.

"Ach, watching those old things, this early in the morning?" Jessa complained as she shuffled into the study, her hair in an unbound, almost wild disarray, lost in the copious folds of the thick white robe.  Wandering over to him, only to crawl into his lap, her arms slipping up around his neck as she cuddled against him, she buried her face against his chest with a half-yawn, half-sigh.  "Maybe we ought to go back to bed?"

He chuckled, smoothing her hair before kissing her forehead and wrapping his arms around her.  "You didn't have to get up yet," he told her.  "I asked Nora to hold off on making breakfast in case you wanted to sleep in.  You've not been sleeping well since we got here . . ."

"I slept very well last night," she countered gently, a little petulantly.  "Have you booked flights home yet?"

He nodded.  "I have.  The soonest they had was a couple days, though, but I'd like to make sure that everything is in order before we go, anyway."

Letting out a deep breath, she seemed to snuggle a little closer against him.  "Have you been watching these all morning?"

He didn't really confirm or deny her question, and she slowly shook her head.  "They're just silly videos of me as a child," she told him with a shake of her head.

"I think they're cute," he told her.

"If you say so . . ."

He chuckled and kissed her forehead.  "I do."

 

* * *

 

 

Pulling her sweater closer around her shoulders as the wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of fall—of drying and frail leaves, of fading and sun-cured grasses, of the last of the harvests that still lingered on the air.  Sitting in the midst of her father's torch ring, she turned her face upward, staring at the slightly overcast sky above.

Ashur was busy, going through the mountain of paperwork that the attorney had sent over, and she hadn't wanted to look at it yet, so she'd slipped out of the manor, only to end up here, wishing that she could sense her father here, that there were some way that she could see him and her mother, just one last time, to let them know that she really was all right—that Ashur had made it all right for her in his own way—and yet, knowing that it was a childish dream.

Digging out her phone when the chime announce the arrival of a text, she smiled wanly at Carol's message: ' _Hurry home, sweetie!  Miss you horribly! MEN!_ '

' _What did Laith do now?_ '

She'd barely had time to back out of the text screen when the phone chimed again.  There wasn't a text this time, just a picture of Laith, sprawled out on the bed, taking up most of it while Carol huddled on the edge with a very unimpressed expression on her face.  Jessa laughed and texted her back, ' _Buy a bigger bed?_ '

Carol sent her back a sighing emoji.

' _Flying back Wednesday.  Let him live till then._ '

' _If I must . . . XOXO Have a safe flight!_ '

Jessa giggled and slipped the phone into her pocket once more.  What was it about Carol that had the ability to reach her, even halfway around the world, to pull her back, to make her smile when her heart felt so heavy just moments before?

Drawing a deep breath—a cleansing kind of breath—she let it out slowly, let her gaze shift over her surroundings that she knew so well as she slipped her hand into her pocket once more, timidly touching, feeling, the roughened texture of the envelope that she'd grabbed on a whim.

The letter from her mother . . .

It wasn't that she dreaded what the envelope might contain.  It was more the feeling of finality that she couldn't ignore that crept around the edges when she contemplated the idea of reading what her mother had to say.

It was strange, really, and if she honestly stopped to consider it all, it was all so hard to grasp.  The sudden and massive changes in her life in the past couple years, and yet, she knew deep down that she wouldn't change a thing because one thing had hinged upon another.  Had her parents lived, she wouldn't have gone to the States, wouldn't have met Ashur, wouldn't have met Kells . . . And it wasn't that she was glad her parents had died at all, but . . .

But it was a part of life, wasn't it?  Giving up some parts of her childhood in order to gain the other parts that she was meant to have . . . And if she could look at it in that way, then she could smile, couldn't she?  Because it was all right to carry her parents in her heart forever—the things they'd taught her, the love that they'd given to her—and it was all right to let go of them, too, to find other things and other people who could fill that part of her with the same sense of security, even if it wasn't in the same way . . . Instead of being the one who needed to be protected and coddled, it was all right for her to want to stand on her own, to protect and nurture a life like Kells'—like Ashur's . . .

Breaking the wax seal on the envelope, she drew a deep breath, pulled out the letter—a letter that still carried the scent of Orlaith so indelibly that it unleashed a pain so swift, so deep, so vast, that it wrenched a low, primitive kind of moan from her, doubled her over for a long moment until the savagery of the ache lessened.

Just the warmth of her mother's familiarity that emanated from the stationery to her was enough to unleash the strangest emotions.  The comfort of the scent that she'd known from childhood and before, the traces of her lingering youki that had permeated the paper as she wrote this . . . the same, almost lyrical, slant of her handwriting . . .

A thousand images flickered to life in her head, only to fade so quickly that she couldn't quite grasp them, but the overwhelming sense of comfort that they cumulatively inspired was enough to bring a sheen of tears to her eyes, and she quickly dashed over her face to wipe them away, and when she started to read the words, the voice in her mind—the one that spoke to her—was her mother's . . .

 

.

 

 _My Dearest Jessamyn_ , 

 _If you're reading this, then I'm not here to tell you these things—things I should have said long before—things I should have taught you. I feel things, lurking in the darkness, and that's why I am writing this down—just in case I miss the opportunity_. 

 _My darling girl, this is my apology_.

 _I want you to know the depths of my failure.  From the moment you were laid in my arms, from the moment I gazed upon your sweet, tiny face, saw those eyes so round, so very much like your father's, and I vowed to you then that I would be the best mother—the very best mother, and I promised you the world_.

 _I saw you as perfect—everything about you.  Your fingers, your toes, the brilliance of fire that was evident in you from the very moment of your conception, and I knew—knew—that you would shine bright.  And I was in love.  Utterly in love with you, my child, long before you were born, long before I ever got to meet you, face to face.  You deserved the world, everything in the world.  Everything, Jessamyn!  You deserve to find and know love—true love—love like your father and I have.  That's why your father and I rejected Duke Portsmouth's offer to see you mated to his son.  It's why we would have continued to do so, regardless.  Your heart is not something that they can trifle with.  It's yours alone to give to whoever you will.  Give it wisely, my darling_.

 _When I think back to your childhood, when I remember the times that it fell to me to rein you in, to hold you back when you wanted to fly . . . And I hated that more than you'll ever know.  I hated to take away your independence, your desire to be 'you'_ . . .

 _I didn't want to fail, you understand?  Or maybe_. . .

 _I never told you of my past.  I never told you because I thought that maybe it didn't matter, that I was who I was, and that you understood, but maybe you didn't_.

 _I was born to a poor but honest smithy and his mate.  Humble but happy, and I grew up, running through the fields, and the only borders of my youth were the hours between dusk and dawn, but your father, when I met him_ . . .

 _His family was appalled, and rightfully so.  I had no manners, no education.  I could barely sew a straight seam.  His mother in particular despaired that I would ever be the kind of lady that her son required in a wife, in a mate, and as much as I resisted, as much as I cherished the freedom of my youth, I . . . Well, I loved your da_.

 _And I realize now that, for everything I strove to be, I lost a bit of myself along the way, but in such small measures that I didn't realize what was happening, and maybe it was that fear that you were too much like me_ . . .

 _I became a creature, governed by what others might think, what others might say.  Too worried about perception, I'm ashamed to admit that I refused to even allow you the relationship with your aunt that she craved, that you would have welcomed.  Please, tell Nora that I am sorry.  When she chose to come home, when she said she'd rather be employed as a housekeeper than to live off your father's wealth, I was appalled, but it was because I was afraid, you understand: afraid of what the ton might say—the scandal of having a working relative.  Oh, the shame!  I didn't understand back then that the true shame was in hiding the truth to perpetuate the belief that it would matter in the end because it doesn't.  It truly doesn't, and . . . And I should not have done that because now, if you're reading this, then that means that you're alone, and you never should have had to be.  Nora is your aunt, your father's elder sister, and she has always kept this a secret, even from you, because I asked her to, and I shouldn't have_ . . .

 _I'm so sorry, my girl.  Those moments when I should have reveled in your independence, I chastised you.  Those moments when I should have made you understand, just how beautiful you are in your own right, I sought out ways to make you blend in.  Those moments when I should have encouraged you to speak your mind because your truths are yours alone, I implored you to hold it in, to swallow your words, lest you be viewed as less than the perfect lady, and . . . and I shouldn't have done that, not to you—never to you.  You, my daughter, are wild and beautiful, like the roses that grow thick over the glens.  You've been touched by that morning dew that very few ever get to see, and I realize now what I missed back then: that you grew up to be all these things despite me—despite my desire to mold you into what society claims is the perfect lady_.

 _Because you already were perfect, long before you ever opened those eyes, before you ever smiled your first, before you ever threw your arms around me and called me 'Ma' . . . You were perfect then; you're still perfect now.  Don't quell your personality to suit someone else's definition of a lady.  Don't swallow your words when you want to speak out—instead, choose your battles and know which ones are worth fighting.  Some of the small things don't matter, and you're learning this, I'm sure.  Some of them, however, are most certainly worth fighting, and, in those, you fight, my girl_.

 _Be strong, Jessamyn.  Be strong, and be happy, and do not ever settle for less than you deserve.  No matter where you go in your life, no matter what you do, understand that your father and I have loved you more than anything else in this world, that we're proud of you—ridiculously proud, and smile, my darling.  Hold your head up with pride because there isn't enough beauty in the world, and you, my daughter, were born of light, of love, of beauty_.

 _With all my heart_ ,  
_Your devoted mother_ ,  
_Orlaith Daugherty-O'Shea_.

 

.

 

Jessa swallowed hard, trying to force down the lump that thickened in her throat, crushing the letter to her chest as the first rattle of bittersweet tears surged through her.  The rawness of her mother's words—words that still resounded in her head—somehow tore her open and yet soothed her, too.

The arms that slipped around her, that drew her up and against a solid body required no words, no thoughts.  Ashur sighed, rubbed her back, let her cry as he held her close.  He asked no question, demanded no answers.  Content simply to offer her whatever support she needed, and she loved him just a little more for that.

And it took a long time before she managed to pull it back, to compose herself enough that she could put a stop to the tears, leaning against Ashur's chest as the breeze dried her cheeks, as the freshness of the wind seemed to sweep away the melancholy, the sense of desperate heartbreak . . .

Lips, warm on her forehead, she closed her eyes for just a moment, snuggled a little closer to him, letting him be her windbreak, simply reveling in the warmth, the vibrance of his youki.

"I . . . I suddenly felt like you needed me," he ventured at last, careful to keep his voice low, almost as though he were afraid of shattering the silence.

"I did," she admitted, unable to repress the slight shiver that raced through her body.  "I do . . ."

He sighed.  "I read your father's letter this morning," he told her.  "If you want to read it . . ."

"He wrote it to you, though," she said.

He shrugged.  "He did, but . . ."

She bit her lip, leaned back far enough to look at him.  Blue eyes as bright as the summer sky, he managed a wan little smile that she knew was just for her.  "Do you . . .?  Do you want to read my mother's letter?"

One brown eyebrow raised.  "Do you want me to?"

She considered his question, and he suddenly chuckled, pulling her close against him once more.  "I don't need to," he told her.  "It was for you, and if you got out of it what you needed to, then that's all that matters to me."

"I . . . I don't think I'd mind if it was you," she admitted.

He shrugged. "It feels like one of those things that is exclusive between a mother and a daughter," he said.  "It's fine."

Idly twisting a long strand of his hair around her fingers, she sighed.  "I just . . . I wish they'd gotten to meet you," she admitted quietly.  "That they'd gotten to meet Kells . . . They would have loved you . . ."

"Fathers don't usually love the men who take away their little girls, now do they?"

She laughed, and it was tinged with a sadness.  "I think they would have . . . It would just have been nice to _know_ . . ."

He opened his mouth to answer, but the wind suddenly dropped entirely and all at once.

Jessa sat up, her gaze shifting around slowly, as, one by one, her father's torches shot to life as a strange yet comfortable sense of warmth rose around her.

"Jessa . . . Did you . . .?" Ashur murmured.

She shook her head, eyes widening as a soft sort of glow, almost like a mist, seemed to solidify in the air in front of them.  "Da . . ." she murmured at the brush of a very familiar youki.

The vague sound, almost like laughter, came to her, though whether it was just in her head or not, she didn't know, but she heard Ashur's sharp gasp behind her.

For the briefest of moments, she heard them both, smiled as a haze of tears rose to blur her vision again.  A softer, gentler laughter mingled with her father's while a sudden gust of wind blew in, carrying white petals of what looked to be moon flowers . . . The petals danced and swirled, surrounding the invisible silhouettes of two people, side by side, but the wind didn't touch Jessa or Ashur.

Suspended just above the ground, the familiarity of scent, the feeling that she'd never thought to ever feel again . . .

Slowly, one of those forms—the smaller one—seemed to lean down, to brush against her cheek with an outstretched hand, lingering against her skin for a rending moment until, with a burst of laughter, clear and bright, the wind returned in a gust, dispersing the swirling petals, extinguishing the flaming torches . . .

And they left behind the sense of contentment that made Jessa smile.  Her parents—she'd felt them, and Ashur . . . He'd felt them, too . . .

"They . . . They approve," she whispered.  Ashur hugged her tight.  "They . . . They approve . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Teasers for the next **Purity** addition available in the facebook group!  
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>  ** _Forum  
>  _** Nate Grey ——— lovethedogs
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from Jessa**_ :  
>  _Ma and . . . Da_. . .
> 
>  


	79. Plotting

' _Just . . . a little more . . . Concentrate or you're going to go too far . . ._ '

Scowling in complete effort, absolute focus, Ashur held a tight grip on his youki, on the pressure with which it wrapped around the forming stone, lying in the middle of his outstretched hand.  It had come to him as a whisper of a thought on the flight back to Canada, nothing more than a fleeting idea in the beginning, and yet, the longer he considered it, the more he wanted to try, and even if it wasn't possible, at least he'd know that he'd given it a shot . . .

Closing his eyes, letting his mind fill with the image of what he was looking to achieve, he concentrated instead on the colors, the blend of shades, from one into another, the brilliance of everything that Jessa was in his mind, all of it combined into this one moment, this one little thing . . . It could easily be so insignificant, so mundane, and yet . . .

' _Kami . . ._ '

Eyes flashing open as his youkai-voice gasped, Ashur blinked as the strength of his youki gave way, and he blinked in near-wonder as he slowly lifted his hand, as he stared at the brilliant, flashing stone.  A diamond, wasn't it?  A diamond, shot through with the brilliance of the colors of Jessa's flames: crimson near the bottom, shooting in strands up through it, the clearest white, touched with just the tinge of blue near the center while bright oranges, shades of golds, overlapped in the upper flickers, like a misshapen teardrop, just like a dancing flame—the same shape as the mark on her hand.  He stared at it, letting the stone roll over on his palm, a trace hint of a smile quirking the edges of his lips, as he drew a deep breath, as he unfurled his youki once more to lift more humble earth, a bit of ash from the nearby fire pit . . . Those specks swirled together, settled into the palm of his hand with the newly created diamond.  It felt easier, didn't it?  Much more natural, weaving the granules as they drew together, as they compacted into a rough shape.  Some grains fell away, only to blow off, others snaked in and around, twisting around each other in an intricate tangle of controlled knots and turns that gently wrapped around the stone, overlapping it just enough to hold it in place.  Narrowing his gaze as he compacted the earth, as he willed it to change to become the medium he desired, he was rewarded by the sparkle and shine of the highly polished metal.  As with the flowers, the difficulty was in controlling the ebb and flow of his youki, in the transition from one state to another without touching the stone he'd already created.

It felt like it took a long, long time before he released his youki, before he brought the twisting rings up to stare at them.  Two perfectly formed rings of platinum: the one that held the stone, a gentle network of a single vine with delicate little leaves that twisted and curved over and around the fire stone, and the other?  A simple band, formed of a network of Celtic knots that slipped over the fire stone ring, fitting together perfectly—a tangle of vines that appeared to grow through the knots like an ancient trellis . . .

' _That's . . . beautiful,_ ' his youkai-voice breathed.  ' _Kyouhei . . ._ '

Blinking quickly as a strange prickle erupted behind his eyelids, Ashur nodded vaguely.  It was exactly what he'd pictured in his mind, wasn't it?  The ring that he'd thought would be perfect for Jessa . . .

"Daddy!  Whatcha doin'?" Kells hollered as he bounced up to the veranda.  He'd been out, playing with the twins, and Ashur wasn't sure where the girls were, but Kells giggled and hopped around happily.

Letting out a deep breath as he gave the rings one last critical look, he slowly glanced at Kells and smiled.  "I made these for Jessa," he said, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that the woman in question was not within earshot.  "What do you think?"

Kells stared at them, his face furrowing with a very thoughtful frown as he tipped his head from left to right.  "Hmm . . ."

Narrowing his eyes on the boy, Ashur shot Kells a rather menacing look that was entirely ineffectual, given that Kells didn't see it.  "What do you mean, hmm?" he growled.

Kells shrugged.  "Not big enough!" he exclaimed.

Snapping his mouth closed on the retort that was forming in his mind, he sighed.  "If it's too big, it'll look weird on Jessa, don't you think?"

Kells shook his head.  "It's gotta be big, Daddy!  Big!"

Rolling his eyes since his claim was accompanied by arms, stretched out wide over his head, Ashur chuckled.  "We want her to be able to lift her hand, Kells," he pointed out dryly.

"I wanna make one, Daddy!"

Letting out a deep breath, mostly because he really didn't know if he had it in him, to help Kells 'make' a ring of his own, Ashur slowly shook his head.  "How about tomorrow?" he offered.

Kells didn't look impressed with that idea.

"And where did you leave Nadia and Emmeline?"

For the vaguest of moments, Kells looked a little uncomfortable.  Then he grinned.  "We was playin' hide n' seek."

Ashur's lips twitched.  "So, you were 'it', and you left them out there hiding?"

He had the grace to look a little guilty.  Ashur grunted.  "And just where is Puff-Puff?"

Kells' eyes grew round, and he carted around on his heel.  "I'll go find 'em!" he hollered over his shoulder as he sped off once more.

Ashur chuckled, but only after Kells was well out of earshot.  His amusement didn't die away, but it did wane a little, as he turned his attention to the rings in his hand once more.  Would she like them?  He had a feeling that she would . . .

' _All that's left is proposing, Kyouhei.  So, when are we going to do that?_ '

Frowning as he considered that question, he sighed.  ' _Well, I mean, we could do it now . . . Unless she's closeted away with Nora, which is entirely possible . . ._ '

It _was_ entirely possible.  Ever since she'd found out in her mother's letter that Nora was her aunt, she'd spent as much time as she could with her—not that Ashur blamed her at all.  Given that Jessa had effectively lost everyone else in her immediate family, having anyone, especially an aunt that she'd known all of her life, had to be comforting . . .

 _Walking into the manor, Jessa stopped short when she spotted Nora, casually dusting the huge china cabinet off to the side in the formal dining room.  With a choked sob, she ran to her, throwing her arms around her while Nora laughed and gently stroked her hair.  "Good heavens, child!  Whatever is the matter?_ "

 _Jessa sniffled and sobbed and crinkled the letter in her hands_.

 _Nora's eyes widened.  "Orlaith . . . She told you, did she?_ "

 _Jessa could only nod_ . . .

"Ah, Ash . . . I was looking for you.  I called Myrna, and she said she'd be more than happy to look into the duke's motives.   She's not sure if she can find anything out.  Said that the duke is notorious for not saying much, which makes sense, given that he's been able to hide the truth about Devlin and his mom for so long," Ben said, stepping up behind Ashur and inadvertently shattering the memory.  "What's . . .?  Oh . . . What is it?  About three carats?  That's gorgeous . . . Where did you find a stone like that?  I don't think I've ever seen anything like that before."

"I . . . I made it," Ashur confessed.

"Damn," Ben said with a low whistle.  "You're in the wrong line of work."

That earned his brother a rather dark look, but he let Ben take the rings to get a better look at them.

"So, how are you going to do it?"

Ashur blinked.  "Do what?"

 Ben chuckled, shaking his head slowly as he handed back the rings.  "What else, Ash?  How are  you going to propose?"

Opening his mouth for a moment, he snapped it closed once more and snorted.  "Don't you just walk up and ask her?  Then she says yes, you say great, she plans the wedding, and you show up on the day she tells you to?"

Ben's eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed.  "Are you really my brother?" he demanded.

Ashur made a face.  "All right.  What am I missing?"

Ben shrugged, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of the black slacks he wore as he ambled around the terrace with a thoughtful look on his face.  "It has to be done big, don't you know?  Like, viral video on youtube, big . . ."

Ashur grunted, crossing his arms over his chest as he leveled a look at his brother.  "You're so full of it."

Ben shook his head.  "Just ask Chelsea.  She sent me all sorts of suggestions when I was trying to figure out how and when to ask Charity."

That earned him an indelicate snort.  "You just asked her, no bells or whistles.  She said so."

Ben chuckled.  "True enough, but Charity's not a young woman like Jessa is.  I imagine she's already got the perfect idea already in mind, and if you can't live up to that, she's bound to be disappointed."

Rubbing his forehead as he opened his hand and frowned at the rings once more, Ashur sighed.  "Go away, Ben," he grumbled.

Ben laughed and strolled off, probably to find the children.

' _That's . . . Jessa doesn't . . . doesn't care about something as trite as that . . . does she . . .?_ '

His youkai-voice sighed.  ' _Well . . . I mean, no, I don't think . . . but you know, there might be some truth to it, don't you think?_ '

' _Truth?  To what?  Making a fool out of myself just to make some weird video I don't want to be in?  No, thank you . . . Jessa's nothing like that.  She doesn't care about that kind of thing any more than I do . . . She'll like the good, old-fashioned kind of proposal just as much._ '

' _Maybe, but that's really not what I meant._ '

' _Oh? Then what did you mean?_ '

' _I mean, even if it's personal and just between the two of you—well, the three of you, if you want to consider Kells in this whole thing—why not try to make it memorable, too?  Well, more memorable than the run-of-the-mill type thing that is 'normal' . . ._ '

' _And just how would I do that?_ '

His youkai sighed.  ' _I'm not sure, but maybe just something that involves Kells, too.  After all, marrying her is going to solidify his family in a big way._ '

Ashur frowned as he considered his youkai's words.  Involving Kells?  It made perfect sense, of course.  After all, it was something for him, too, and, while Kells might already consider Jessa his mother, when Ashur married her, it would make it true in every way.  Including Kells in the planning really was a good idea.  But . . . How . . .?

 

* * *

 

 

Hunkering down on the floor in the foyer, Ashur carefully straightened Kells' little bow tie, smoothed down the jacket of his tux as the lad scuffed his dress shoes against the floor.  Ignoring the Japanese sense of 'no shoes in the house' for once, the formality of his clothes rather dictated the need for the shoes at the moment.  "Okay, now you know what to do, right?"

Kells nodded one great nod.  "Yes!"

Ashur let out a deep breath and dug into his pocket for the velvet ring box that Charity had procured for him earlier.  Pulling the lid open, he stared at the engagement ring, nestled in the shiny nest of black satin, and snapped the box closed before handing it to Kells.  "All right, then . . ."

Peering around the corner, he caught Nora's eye and jerked his head.  The woman nodded as she slowly stood up, giving Jessa's shoulder a quick squeeze in passing.

Ashur waited until Nora stopped beside him before nodding at Kells, who smiled and giggled before skittering into the living room and over to Jessa, who was reading through a letter that was delivered earlier from the House of Lords Appointments Commission regarding the vetting process for Ashur's claim to Jessa's father's title.

"Do you think she'll say yes?" Ashur murmured without taking his eyes off of Jessa.

Nora chuckled.  "I'm sure you've stacked the deck in your favor," she allowed.   "I'll go round up something worthy of a celebration," she offered.

He smiled just a little, moving forward to lean in the archway.  It was late enough that Charity and Ben were putting the girls to bed.  Ashur had figured that it was as good a time as any, given that he had been rehearsing with Kells for most of the afternoon, and if he waited, then there was a good chance that the three-year-old would end up, springing the surprise without necessarily meaning to.

"Mommy?"

She looked up, and Ashur didn't have to see her face to know that she was smiling, and when she spoke, he could hear it in her voice, too.  "Well, now don't you look smart, Kells?  Why are you wearing that?"

Kells smoothed his hair, casting his father a quick, almost nervous glance.  Ashur nodded and held up a hand to encourage the boy to continue.  Kells looked back at Jessa again and slowly sank down on one knee, frowning in concentration as he tugged the ring box open and held it out to Jessa.

She gasped—it echoed in the otherwise quiet living room.  "K-Kells . . .?"

Kells drew a deep breath.  "Will you be my mommy?"

Jessa giggled, but he could hear the slight huskiness in the sound, in her voice.  "I'm already your mommy, aren't I?"

"Well, yeah," Kells agreed slowly, thoughtfully.  "But if you marry my daddy, then you can be my _real_ mommy," he said, "forever!"

Jessa cleared her throat, picked up Kells to settle him on her lap.  "I . . . Oh . . . Is . . . Is your da . . . asking . . .?"

Kells nodded happily.

She laughed again, and this time, the tears that thickened her voice were unmistakable.  "Then . . . Then I'd love to be your . . . mommy," she replied.

Kells giggled and leaned over the back of the sofa.  "She said yes, Daddy!" he exclaimed.

Ashur chuckled and levered himself away from the archway, wandering forward to take the ring box from Kells.  Then he pulled the ring out and slipped it onto Jessa's finger.  "You're sure?"

She stared at him, tears pooling in her eyes despite the smile that trembled on her lips.  "I am," she whispered.

Ashur smiled and leaned down to kiss her.

"Me, too!" Kells exclaimed.

Ashur chuckled while Jessa sniffled and laughed.  "Of course, you too!" she insisted, pulling Kells close to cover his little face with kisses as he giggled and shrieked.

Not to be outdone, Puff-Puff jumped onto the sofa and squirreled his way between Jessa and Kells as Nora slipped into the room with a tray of champagne and glasses—and a glass of sparkling apple juice for Kells.

"Did we miss it?" Ben asked, pulling Charity along behind him.

"She said, 'yes'," Ashur replied, carefully working the cork out of the bottle.

"Mommy's gonna be a Philips, too!  She's gonna match Daddy an' me!" Kells hollered happily.

Ashur chuckled as Jessa rubbed Puff-Puff's head.

Ashur frowned.  "Nora, you only brought four glasses," he called before she could slip out of the room.  "You need one, too."

Nora looked like she was going to decline, but Jessa stood up, taking a glass and slipping it into Nora's hand, sparing a moment to kiss her on the cheek before hurrying out of the room to grab a fifth flute.

Nora sighed.  "I'm still housekeeper around here," she muttered, cheeks pinking as she followed Jessa out of the room.

Ashur handed Charity and Ben each a glass, too, before giving Kells the sparkling apple juice.

"Congratulations, Ashur," Charity said, stepping over to kiss him on the cheek.

Jessa hurried back into the room with an empty glass and a chagrined aunt in tow.  She filled her glass and slipped an arm around Ashur's waist.

"A toast to the happy couple," Ben declared, hefting his glass high.  "May the engagement be short, may the wedding go smoothly, and may I be the first to offer my sincerest congratulations—in the form of a gift card!" he declared, handing Ashur a tiny envelope with the gift card inside.

He rolled his eyes, but chuckled as Charity sighed and slowly shook her head.  "Baka . . ." she muttered under her breath despite the smile on her face.  "You know, if you wanted, my twin is a party planner, so I'm sure that she'd be more than happy to help you out . . ."

Jessa bit her lip and shot Ashur a quick glance.  "Actually . . . I'd rather just have something small," she admitted.  "Nothing too fancy or formal, just family, really . . ."

Ben frowned.  "As a general, it might not be that simple," he said.  "I mean, there are certain people that might be a little offended if they aren't invited . . ."

"Yes, well, it's not their wedding," Ashur replied.  "Maybe we should just elope."

Ben snorted.  "You'd better not!  I fully intend to be your best man, after all . . ."

"And you made Cain your best man, so . . . you don't get a say in that, either."

Ben chuckled.  "I'm hurt, Ash.  Besides, I didn't really want Zelig, but no one else did, either, so I was stuck with him . . ."

Rolling her eyes, Charity tapped Ben in the center of his chest with her knuckles.  "It's their wedding, Ben Philips, and you'll let them do whatever they want to do," she insisted.  "What do you think, Nora?"

"Me?" Nora blurted, looking distinctly uncomfortable to be drawn into this discussion.  "Well . . ."

"You can still have a moderately sized wedding without it becoming a study in pretension," Ben added.

"But if Jessa doesn't want a big wedding—or even a 'moderately sized' wedding—"

"I thought all women wanted big weddings," Ben remarked.

Charity sighed.  "Not all of them do, no," she said.  "Are there any special Irish traditions, Nora?"

"Oh, traditions . . ."

Jessa sighed softly, and Ashur set their glasses back on the tray and took her hand, pulling her toward the patio doors, feeling only slightly guilty about not saving Nora from the current topic they were discussing.

The air outside was brisk, bordering on cold, and he slipped his arms around her, pulling her close with a sigh.  "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do," he told her, hoping to reassure her, having seen the hint of trepidation in her gaze.  "Whatever you want is fine with me."

She sighed.  "It's not that I don't want a wedding," she told him.  "It's just, when I stop and think about who should be there, but won't be . . ."

He nodded.  "We also don't have to do it right away, either."

She shook her head.  "It's not that.  I want to marry you.  I just . . ."

"We don't have to worry about it tonight," he said.

She bit her lip, her gaze falling to the ring he'd slipped onto her finger, and she smiled, albeit a little wanly.  "This is . . . It's beautiful," she breathed, turning her hand slightly, watching as the light spilling through the bank of windows from the living room caught and shimmered.  Suddenly, though, she stopped, turning her face up as her gaze rose to lock with his.  "You . . . You made this, didn't you?"

He neither confirmed nor denied her question, but he did smile.

She smiled almost timidly as a brilliance entered her eyes.  "I . . . I'll make you happy, Ashur," she promised.

He chuckled softly, leaned down, brushing his lips over hers, only to return a moment later in a long, slow kiss that made her heart beat in a crazy pattern, that made her breath catch in her throat.  "You already do, Jessa," he told her, a mumble of quiet feeling, of a whispered caress as he pulled her closer.  "You already do . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
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> Anna ——— minthegreen
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>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— lianned88
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> ==========
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _He … made it_ …?


	80. Impetuous

Jessa awoke with a smile on her face and a sense of well-being that was so deep, so encompassing, that she almost laughed out loud as she scooted closer to Ashur, savoring the warmth of his body, the evenness of his breathing.  Opening her eyes, her gaze falling on the ring that he'd given her the night before, she bit her lip, as though she were trying to contain the absolute sense of joy that welled up inside her.

He'd _made_ it for her . . .

It was almost as though she could feel the sense of love, of caring, that had gone into the crafting of it, and she rolled to the side, just far enough to hold up her hand, to examine the flashing brilliance of the ring in the weak light that filtered into the room.

It looked like a flame—a frozen flame—and the way that the light played off of it gave it life, movement.  She didn't know how he'd managed to create it, but it was absolutely stunning.

' _It's beautiful,_ ' her youkai-voice remarked.  ' _We ought to do something special for him, too._ '

' _Something special . . . like . . . what?_ '

' _Well, it's not something you have to figure out right this moment.  Just . . . Just something that you could do for him—something that will make him feel as loved, as special, as he makes you feel . . ._ '

That was the problem, wasn't it?  She wasn't skilled enough with flame to do much of anything intricate like what he was able to accomplish with his mastery of the earth, and even if she were, it wasn't like she could do what he did.  In a way, it made her feel somewhat incompetent, even if that wasn't what he had set out to do.  She only wished that she could do something for him—something that would make him understand just how special she thought that he really was, not just for the ring, but for . . . for everything . . .

He really had gone out of his way from the very start for her, hadn't he?  Even when he didn't know anything about her . . .

Her ebullience waned just slightly as she leaned up on her elbow, gently pushing his golden brown bangs out of his eyes, letting her fingertips trail lightly over the angles, the planes of his face.  She wasn't sure what had brought the two of them together—if it was fate or destiny—was there a difference between the two?  Whatever it was . . . It was all right, wasn't it?  To be with him—to know him maybe better than she knew herself—and to understand that the two of them belonged together . . . It was a humbling thing.

The insular memory of that day in the glen, surrounded by her father's torches as they had ignited, one by one . . . The brush of the moonflower petals as they ebbed and flowed, suspended on a warm breeze . . . The touch of invisible fingers that, for a fleeting breath, were entirely real . . .

Maybe it didn't matter, how they'd come together.  Maybe it was enough that she was here, that she was with him, and there was nowhere else she would rather be.

He looked so much younger when he was sleeping, didn't he?  Not that he usually looked that old, either.  If she likened him to a human, then he probably didn't appear any older than maybe twenty-seven or so, if that.  There was just something about him . . .

' _Aside from the idea that the man is just absolutely stunning to look at?_ '

Okay, so there was that . . .

Unable to staunch the heat that rose to her infuse her cheeks with a blush that she could feel, Jessa bit her lip, forcing herself not to look away since that was her gut reaction.  They'd both fallen asleep last night, tangled around one another while the scent of their bodies lingered thick in the air.  It was remarkable, wasn't it?  As many times as they'd been together, every single time felt so different, so wonderful, like an entirely new way of discovering each other.

They hadn't bothered to cover up, either, and she broke into a rather timid smile as she pushed herself upright, careful not to wake him, while she deliberately allowed herself to look at him, to let her gaze wander over him in an entirely lethargic kind of way.  She hadn't really taken the time to look at him like this before, mostly because it felt so . . . so wicked, so wanton that it was difficult to do so now.  After all, a lady wasn't supposed to be so forward.  Even so, it was all right, wasn't it?  She knew well enough that he enjoyed looking at her body, so why couldn't she allow herself to do the same?  He wouldn't mind, she knew that, and the heady feeling that this man was hers?

He wasn't large or over-muscled, wasn't at all intimidating in that kind of way.  Lanky, broad shouldered, yes, yet trim and well-defined without being overwhelming . . . Lying on his side, his head turned slightly toward her, his skin seemed to glow in the wan light, a gorgeous canvas, a study of light and shadow, and even in his relaxed state, she could see the definition of his abs, slowly flicking out her tongue against her dry lips as her gaze swept lower, lingering on the rise of his hip, the bone that protruded just below his flesh . . . Fingertips reaching out, lightly tracing the indentation where his hip met his torso, dragging through the tangle of curls, she bit her lip again, marveling at the play of muscles as they jerked under her touch.

And it seemed like the most natural thing in the word as she wrapped her fingers around the length of him.  The reaction of his body was immediate, drawing a soft giggle from her as he hardened, thickened, lengthened in her hand.

He was fascinating.  Everything about him . . . All she wanted to do was to touch him, to get to know his body in a way that always seemed to elude her when he was awake.  He was dynamic, overwhelming, making her forget herself any time he gave her that look, when he touched her.  Even now, he held a power over her, an allure that was almost impossible to ignore.

Letting go of him, she scooted down, settling next to his hips, knees bent feet buried beneath her pillows, and she grasped him once more.  Eyes flashing up almost guiltily as he moaned softly, she slid her hand up and down a few times, loving the feel of him, the contrast of the hardness of him, the silky softness of his skin . . .

And just touching him, reveling in the twitches, the reactions of his body to her was enough to ignite an inner burn, the dull ache that nearly wrenched a groan from her.  Shifting her feet, drawing one leg up closer, pushing the other one out straight, she squirmed just a little, trying to ignore the surge of molten desire that shot through her as she continued to stroke him.

She wanted to wake him up, to feel his arms around her, his body against hers, and yet, the idea that he was still asleep was far too heady, too blatant an invitation to ignore.  Letting her gaze roam back to the part of him that she was touching, she stared as the small bead of moisture appeared on the head of his cock, and he rolled in his sleep, lying flat on his back.  A quick glance reassured her that he hadn't opened his eyes, and she didn't give it a second thought as she lowered her mouth over him . . .

 

* * *

 

 

Clenching his jaw tight when Jessa's mouth sank down on him, Ashur managed to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape as he concentrated on remaining perfectly still.  She woke him up about the time that she'd grasped him in a firm, but steady grip, but he had yet to open his eyes, compelled to find out exactly what she was doing.

It might have been a mistake.

Something about her almost childlike sense of curiosity shot through him, wrenching a low groan from him as he willed himself not to reach for her.  She drew him in as deeply as she could—she could feel his head hitting the soft and pliable flesh of her throat—and if she didn't stop soon, it was going to be over fast.

But even that wasn't quite enough to break the control he held so tightly.

And then, another scent hit him, and hit him hard.

Cracking his eyes open to verify what he thought he smelled, what he thought that he'd heard, he squeezed them closed again tightly for a long moment before forcing himself to look again as Jessa moaned quietly, her free hand kneading one of her breasts, slipping down her belly, disappearing between her legs.  Delicate fingers running up and down those folds of skin, gingerly at first, and, as her passion grew, with a little more daring, she uttered a roughened groan, the reverberations of it shooting straight through him as the tightening in his balls grew to near painful levels.

Sliding a couple fingers inside herself, she moaned again, her hands working in unison—one wrapped around him, one busy, pleasuring herself, as she bobbed her head up and down, the cascade of her glorious hair, shimmering in the light, as she took him in deeper and deeper as he balanced on the very cusp of violent pleasure, and still, he managed to keep himself still . . .

It was too much.  The heat of her mouth, the wetness of her saliva under her fingers, her palm, the scent of her body as she thrust her fingers into herself, over and over again . . . and all of it closed in on him with a brutality that he couldn't ignore.  With a grunt, a roughened growl, he came, filling her mouth, overflowing her lips despite her effort to swallow it all.  It dripped from her lips, down over her fingers, seeping between them in a fluid gush.

She released the suction of her mouth, running her tongue up and down the length of him, and he couldn't take it anymore.  Reaching out, grabbing her around the waist, he dragged her up and over, pulling her open, holding her still as his tongue flashed out, flickered against her as she reared up and back, as she cried out, rocking against his mouth, her body shaking, quivering, quaking as he shifted her, as he buried his tongue deep inside her, reveling in the taste of her on his lip . . .

Pitching forward, she grabbed him almost roughly, dropped her mouth over him again, her breaths stuttered and harsh.  He held nothing back as he thrust into her, uttering a rather savage growl when her teeth scraped over him, when her hands tightened almost brutally on his balls.  Something about the measured savagery unleashed a passion that bordered on frightening as he rolled them over, slamming into her mouth with a fearsome fervor that only served to heighten her own soaring reactions.  Slipping his fingers deep into her as his tongue sought out that swollen nub of flesh, he felt her body contract as the guttural groan shifted into a proprietary kind of sound that was almost more animalistic than it was articulated.  As if in answer to his silent challenge, she drew him deeper, her hands slipping around, squeezing his ass cheeks hard as she yanked him down as she rose up . . .

The orgasm that exploded from him was even more intense, more earthshaking than the first one had been, and somewhere in the midst of it, he felt her come undone . . .

Rolling over with her once more, he pushed her aside, only to catch her under the arms, pulling her up, burying his hands deep in the tangle of her hair as he yanked her down into a kiss—a wild and beautiful kiss, the taste of her, of him, mingling together, branding them both . . . She crawled on top of him, the heat of her beckoning him as he thrust into her in one fluid motion.  She gasped, shoving down with her body against him, her passion surging once more as he moved inside her, matching the cadence, the rhythm with his tongue against hers.  She leaned up, eyes blazing with unspent desire, lips swollen, darkened to a blood red hue, and she pushed herself upright, head dropping back, hair dragging against his thighs.  Reaching back, grasping his hips, breasts high and flushed, she rose on her knees, body arched back, only to let herself drop against him, time after time, harder and harder.  He could see the slight distension of her belly with every stroke, with every single one,  as she cried out again and again, unable to discern where one orgasm ended and another began.

Ashur sat up, grabbed her to set her on her knees, moving in behind her as he spread her legs, as he ran his fingertips up and down her glistening, swollen pussy.  Splitting her wide open with his thumbs, he slammed into her, and she screamed, her body convulsing around him once more as he grasped her thighs, as he drove into her, hard and fast.  She braced her hands against the headboard, using her arms to propel her back to meet him halfway, her hair flying in a crazy dance as he felt the surging in his cock, in his balls—one crazy thought, one last stroke—and he drove her down hard against the mattress, collapsing on her as the flow of his orgasm connected with her, filling her with his child, with his heart . . .

 

* * *

 

 

Jessa giggled softly, leaning against the paddock fence, watching with a glowing smile as the magnificent gypsy cob prance around.  They were still growing used to the area, which was fine, but when Ashur had told her that he'd thought that maybe she might like to breed them, she'd thought for a moment that he was joking.  The only one it his particular paddock at the moment was the stallion.  The females were in another one, but the stallion could smell them, and he was showboating at the moment . . .

"You look happy," Carol remarked, leaning against the fence beside her.

"I am," Jessa said with a contented sigh.

Carol grabbed her hand and looked at her ring for what had to be the tenth time in the last hour.  "That is absolutely gorgeous," she said again.  "And Ashur made that?"

She nodded.  "You'll be my maid of honor, won't you?"

Carol laughed.  "I was starting to wonder if you were going to ask!" she teased.  "Took you long enough!"

"Is that a yes?"

Carol rolled her eyes, nudged her with her shoulder.  "Of course, it is," she replied.  "Do me a favor, and don't give Laith any ideas, okay?"

"You don't want to get married?"

She shrugged.  "Eventually.  It's just, you know . . . I want to feel like I've accomplished something on my own first . . ."

Jessa's smile dimmed slightly.  "But he told you, didn't he?  That mates . . .?"

"Oh, I know, and I . . . I believe him.  I just . . ." She sighed, as though she were trying to find the words that she wanted.  "I love him.  I love him more than anything, and we understand each other, you know?  But . . . But he's the master of stables here, and that's great, but I . . . I'm not where I want to be yet—at least, not professionally.  I'll get there.  I . . ."

"You want to be his equal before you marry him."

"Does that sound stupid?"

Jessa shook her head.  "I don't think so.  I mean, to our kind, the mating is more binding than marriage, anyway.  But you are going to let him mark you soon, aren't you?"

She let out a deep breath, propping her forehead on a raised fist.  "That sounds scary," she replied, making no bones about it.  "I know, it has to be done.  Laith's already said as much.  It's just a lot to think about."

"As long as you do get it done.  I like the idea of having you around for a very long time," Jessa said.

Carol laughed.  "Okay, okay . . . but about you . . .? Have you guys discussed when you're getting married?"

"Ashur just said whatever I want," she ventured, breaking into a slight smile when the stallion reared up high, kicking his front legs, looking absolutely stunning in the process.  "I don't want anything big or too fancy," she went on. "Just something small with . . . with the people who really matter."

"You don't want a big wedding, milady?" Carol teased.

Jessa sighed.  "To be honest?  No . . . I mean, I have a handful of people I'd want there—you and Nora and Dev and Myrna—and possibly her brother, though he is so busy so often that I rather doubt he'd be able to make it on short notice . . . I'm sure Ashur's list would be much longer, but . . . But how pathetic would that look?  Everyone would be on his side, and  . . ."

Carol nodded, reaching out to smooth Jessa's hair back out of her face.  "You're right.  That would be pretty one-sided . . ."

Jessa grimaced.  "And . . . And Ma and Da . . ." she murmured.  "I know they wanted me to be happy, that they'd be pleased that I've found my mate . . . But when I used to think about my wedding, they were always there, and now . . ."

"If you tell Ashur all of this, I'm sure he'll understand," Carol insisted.  "Besides, he's a pretty un-fussy kind of guy, anyway."

Jessa nodded slowly.  "And . . . I'd like to do it as soon as possible," she went on.  "I just . . . I just want to be settled—with Ashur and Kells . . ."

Carol reached over to hug her.  "Absolutely!  Let me know if there's anything at all I can do to help you out.  After all, it's the maid of honor's job, right?"

Jessa giggled, kissing Carol's cheek.  "Right!"

 

* * *

 

 

"Have you guys gotten any more information on the Greenland case?"

Glancing up from the file he was looking over, Ashur frowned at Ben then rolled his eyes when he spotted Puff-Puff, curled up on his brother's lap, sound asleep.  "Devlin found a few things.  He's handling that one primarily.  Said he talked to a couple people who remembered the incident, and they gave him a couple more names to look into."

Ben nodded thoughtfully.  "Nice.  He seems very intuitive.  He's a good choice for you to work with."

"He is," Ashur allowed.  "The only down side is that he isn't really trained in fighting, so I just worry when he goes out alone . . ."

"Could he learn?"

Slowly shaking his head, Ashur's frown deepened.  "I don't know.  Given what he is, he's not exactly adept at it . . ."

"Maybe with a weapon?  Even a gun . . ."

Ashur nodded.  "That's what I thought.  I mean, if it came to it, and he needed to protect himself, it wouldn't matter.  It 's the end result that does."

Ben broke into a slight smile.  "I'll leave that to you to talk to him about, but you're right.  It's better if he is protected, even if he doesn't like the idea to start with."

Which was probably going to be a bit of an understatement.  As a rule, youkai tended to think that the idea of using guns was unsavory, dishonorable.  Given their line of work, however, it really was important that Devlin was able to defend himself at the basest of levels.

Pushing himself to his feet, Ashur grabbed another slim-file off the desk.

"Where are you going?"

Ashur paused in the doorway and shrugged.  "I'm going to run this over to Devlin, and I'll talk to him about getting a gun."

Ben stood up, too.  "All right.  Charity and I are supposed to meet with a realtor here shortly. Want me to pick up Kells?"

"Sure," Ashur replied as he headed out of the office and down the hallway into the foyer.  Ben had mentioned looking for a place up here since they tended to come up often enough.  "Thanks."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _It's been a hellacious day.  Just posting this and checking out for the night_.
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _I wonder how long it will take her to figure it out_ …?


	81. Animosity

Ashur stepped off the porch, spotting Jessa over near one of the paddocks, watching the stallion he'd bought for her, and he sighed.  As if she sensed his gaze on her, she turned, smiled, lifted a hand to wave before saying something to Carol and running to intercept him.  He broke into a smile of his own, chuckling softly as he watched the way her hair streamed out behind her, bouncing in a tangle of curls as she drew closer, her skin positively glowing, eyes shining, cheeks pinked slightly from the crisp cool in the air . . .

"Going somewhere, milord?" she asked, cocking her head to the side, a coquettish little smile quirking her rose-rouged lips.

He winced at the way she addressed him.  "I'm so _not_ your lord," he muttered.

She giggled, stepping closer, slipping her arms around his neck.  "I don't mind being your subordinate," she assured him, her voice dropping to a near-purr.  "Would you like to subjugate me again tonight?"

He sighed, slipping his arms around her.  "You make that sound much more sexual than it ought to," he told her.

She nipped at his chin, laughing rather huskily when he shivered.  "That's the idea, Ashur Philips."

He grunted.  "Don't you have a wedding to plan?"

She wrinkled her adorable little nose.  "About that . . ."

"Change your mind about marrying . . . me?"

She shook her head.  "Of course not!  I just . . ." She bit her lip, shot him an almost apologetic little glance.  "I . . . I don't want anything big or fancy," she told him.  "Just you and me and Kells and . . . and just a few people that we love . . . and as soon as possible."

He considered that.  "How soon would that be?"

"This weekend?"

He whistled low.  "That _is_ soon . . . But it's your wedding—the only one you'll ever have.  Are you sure that's what you want?"

She nodded.  "I’m sure."

Letting out a deep breath, he scanned the property, his gaze shifting over the grass—now brown and dormant—the gray skies that carried the threat of rain—maybe snow . . .

And he chuckled.  "How about this?  We set a date—maybe the end of November?  Beginning of December?  That gives you a few weeks to plan so you can have the wedding you deserve, and we'll keep the guest list small—really small.  Just friends and family—maybe . . . twenty people?  I mean, I really only care if Ben and Charity and the girls are here . . . Manami . . . We should probably invite Cain and Gin and Bas and Sydnie, at least . . . You'd want Carol and Laith, Myrna, Nora, and Dev and his mother, I assume . . . Would that be more to your liking?"

She considered his offer, and her smile was slow but brilliant.  Maybe she thought that he wouldn't understand, but he had a feeling that he did.  She didn't have that many people in her life that she loved and trusted, and she didn't want an extravagant affair, which was fine with him, too, and the idea that her mother and father were gone had to be weighing heavily in her mind, as well.  Even then, though, he couldn't just let her get married without some sort of ceremony to it.  He wanted her to look back on their wedding in the years—the centuries—to come and be able to think that she wouldn't have changed a thing . . .

"Thank you," she said, hugging him tight, laying her head against his heart.

He let himself hold her close for a long heartbeat before heaving a sigh and letting his arms drop.  "I have to run over to Dev's," he told her. "I need to talk to him about a few things."

"Can I come along?  Or is it 'man talk'?"

He shrugged, letting go of her but taking her hand in his.  "Some 'man talk' . . ."

She giggled as he stepped around the car to open the door for her.  "Carol's agreed to be my maid of honor."

"That's good," he said as he slipped into the driver's side of the car.  "Dev would look terrible in a dress . . ."

She laughed for a moment.  "I was thinking . . ."

"Hmm?"

"I . . . I don't think I want to have anyone escort me down the aisle.  I mean, without Da, it  . . . It wouldn't feel right . . ."

He spared a moment to smile at her as he pulled the car down the long driveway and through the gates that were still being erected.  Following Cain's suggestion, he had hired a local company to build a ten foot wall around the entire estate with the only actual way in at the beginning of the driveway.  After it was completed, Cain suggested having his grandson-in-law, Kurt embed barrier anchors that would, in effect, create a barrier over the entire estate that could cloak the youkai on the property as well as repel the ones on the outside, should anyone come snooping around again.  He could also program it into the house's central nav so that Ashur could turn it on and off if necessary.  That should be enough protection without compromising the overall privacy of the estate, as well.  "I can understand that," he allowed.  "We'll do whatever you want.  Just tell me when and where to be."

Rolling her eyes, she slowly shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear.  "You're being awfully agreeable, Ashur," she mused.  "Why is that?"

"Should I be arguing with you?  I mean, I'd be happy to do that, I guess.  The makeup sex would be phenomenal . . ."

She wrinkled her nose.  "You're incorrigible . . ."

"Hmm . . . Well, I'll agree to anything you want if you wake me up like you did this morning, _every_ morning," he couldn't resist teasing her.

She blushed at the reminder.  "It took you long enough to wake up," she reminded him.

He chuckled.  "I was awake the moment you touched me.  I just thought I'd let you have your moment of exploration."

She snorted, and he wasn't surprised to see that her blush had darkened when he glanced at her.  "You're a terrible man, you know," she pointed out.

His grin widened.  "Maybe, but you're stuck with me, aren't you?"

"For now," she shot back sweetly, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

"Seatbelt, Jessa," he scolded, though his tone held very little, if any, real censure.

She complied with a laugh.  "We're almost there, so it seems a little pointless."

"And if Kells were in the car?  You'd be setting a terrible example . . ."

"But he isn't, so it's a moot point."

He shook his head, but chuckled again, just the same.  His amusement, however, was short-lived as he pulled into Devlin's driveway.  There was a strange car, which wasn't the problem, but even through the careful construction of the automobile, he could feel the brush of a strange youki—an almost malevolent sort of abrasiveness . . .

"Jessa, stay in the car," he said as he slipped the vehicle into park and reached for the door handle.

She shook her head stubbornly, releasing her seatbelt, hopping out before he could stop her.

"Damn it," he grumbled, hurrying to catch up with her.  He couldn't see anything amiss, but then, Jessa wasn't waiting, either.  Breaking into a sprint as he uttered a terse growl, he closed the distance she'd already covered as she dashed around the mansion.

He heard her gasp as he skidded to a halt, her hands flashing up to cover her mouth as her eyes widened.  A strange youkai held Devlin by the throat, choking the very life out of him as his face mottled into a sickening grayish hue.  Even as they watched, Devlin's mother ran at the man, only to yelp when he backhanded her hard enough to send her flying.  Ashur sprinted forward to catch her before she hit the low stone fence surrounding the veranda.  Catching her with a grunt, he quickly set her aside and started to dash toward the youkai, intent upon breaking his hold on Devlin.

Skidding to a stop when the small ball of flame shot past him, he blinked in surprise as it collided with Devlin, as his entire body exploded with a flash of flames that seemed to envelop him in the space of a heartbeat.  The foreign youkai grunted in pain, releasing his hold on the light-youkai almost instantly, shaking his arm in an attempt to put out the flaming sleeve of his shirt, grunting and growling in anger, in complete irritation, as he quickly tore the sleeve away and tossed it aside.

Stomping the ground, unleashing a furrow of earth that shot from his foot and straight toward the youkai, only to pull his feet down a good foot into the ground, Ashur held out a hand, instantly solidifying the earth around the man's feet to hold him still.  "Who are you, and what the hell are you doing?" he demanded, lifting a hand, allowing the earth to spiral upward, to close around the stranger's wrists to keep him from unleashing any more attacks.

In a blur of motion, Jessa dashed past Ashur, giving the strange youkai a wide berth as she hurried to Devlin's side.  His mother was fast on Jessa's heels, and Ashur glanced over just long enough to see the flames die away from Devlin's horribly still body.

The youkai yanked against the earth restraints, his gaze lighting on Jessa, his eyes flaring wide, his face darkening to a ruddy shade as absolute rage seethed in his aura.  "You!" he blasted, shifting his eyes to lock with Ashur's.  "You sullied her!  My prize!"

Narrowing his gaze, Ashur shook his head.  "My mate is nothing to you.  Just who the hell—?" Eyes flaring wide as understanding dawned on him, Ashur snorted indelicately.  "Portsmouth . . ."

"That girl belongs to me!" he raged.  "She was promised to _me!_   You—You _stole_ her!"

"She's not property, and she never was _'your'_ anything," Ashur shot back.  "What's your fixation, anyway?"

"Ashur!" Jessa screamed, and he gritted his teeth as he felt the absolute panic in her youki.

"Do what you can, Jessa," he called back, without taking his gaze off the irate youkai.  As desperately as he might want answers, he honestly didn't know how long Devlin had, but, judging from the panic in her voice, the prognosis wasn't good . . .

Portsmouth snorted, the anger in his aura growing thicker, more toxic.  "I don't care about her!" he spat.  "It's her child I want!"  Suddenly, he stopped, pinned Ashur with what could only be described as a calculating stare.  "You will give me that child—then I'll consider letting you live."

A million thoughts, half-formed and as fleeting as the wind, flashed through his mind, and Ashur shook his head.  Her child?  His . . . child . . . But . . . "You're hardly in a position to be making threats," he growled.

Portsmouth laughed—a derisive, arrogant sound, and with a grunt, he broke the earthen shackle that bound his right hand before smashing his fist against the left one, breaking through that one, too.  Before Ashur could react, he slammed those fists into the earth, pushing off the ground in one smooth motion, knocking the women aside as he grabbed Devlin by the throat once more, shaking him like he was little more than a rag doll.

Ashur barely had time to react, stomping a foot as the earth broke open, the fissure widening as it shot away from him.  Leaping forward, catching Devlin in one arm, shoving against Portsmouth with the other, Ashur growled low in his throat as the air filling with the sound of the duke's scream as he fell into the crevasse.  Ashur let Devlin down as quickly, but gently as he could before stomping the ground once more.  The fracture that he'd just created rumbled closed with a groan moments after Portsmouth shot out of it.  He unleashed a huge, pulsing energy ball straight at Devlin, and Ashur barely had time to react, to throw himself between the crackling missile and the light-youkai, grunting harshly as his body was tossed back, as he took the blistering explosion of pain as it struck hard, sharp, in the center of his chest.

He smacked hard into a stout eastern white pine tree, and it was sheer will alone that pushed him back to his feet, that carried him forward as he sprinted to intercept the miscreant.  Rearing back, gathering another huge ball of energy in his hand, the duke's intention was clear: he meant to kill Devlin—his own son—and the why or wherefore didn't matter at all.  Slapping his hands together as he dashed forward, the jagged spike of earth shot out of the ground, impaling Portsmouth's wrist as the ball of energy fizzled and diminished.

Uttering a sound akin to a caterwaul, the youkai yanked his arm free as an arc of blood flew through the air, only to fall down around him.  Launching himself at Ashur instead, the light of insanity igniting in his eyes, he threw his head back with a shivering laugh, his good arm outstretched.  Ashur caught it, gritting his teeth as he wrenched it back, the sound of shattering bone drowned out by the duke's enraged shriek as he heaved the miserable wretch back, shoved him away, sending him, bouncing off the ground once, twice, a handful of times, sprawling in the unsettled earth where the fissure had been.  Body broken, twisted at the waist at an incomprehensible angle, he still tried to push himself up, fought against the earth that held him.

"Eva . . . Help . . . me . . ."

The horrified gasp as Devlin's mother shook her head, stubbornly refusing to look at her mate, the light of her healing, glowing a soft and beautiful white that encompassed her son as she leaned over him, as her tears fell like rain . . .

Flicking a hand as he shook his head, furiously trying to clear his slightly fogged mind, Ashur struggled to breathe as a swell of earth shot up around Portsmouth, furrowing up over his prone body, the mound of earth slowly flattening, groaning, creaking, before dragging him down into the ground.  A moment later, the moan of the land echoed in the air, rumbled under their feet, and Ashur dropped to his knees.  He felt the abrupt shift in the earth as Portsmouth's foul youki diminished.  Only then did he raise a hand, shifting the ground back into its original state . . .

Jessa rushed past him, dropping to the ground beside Devlin as Evalysse's white light faded.  Turning his head when Devlin moaned, he watched in silence as Jessa caught Evalysse by the shoulders when she pitched forward, very nearly collapsing across her son's chest.

"Damn," Devlin groaned, sitting up slowly, catching his mother and gently settling her on his lap.  He still looked weak, shaky, but his coloring was thankfully returning to normal.  "I . . . Damn . . ."

"Dev!" Jessa half-sobbed, half-breathed, reaching out, cupping his face in her hands.  "You're okay?  You are . . ."

"Irish," he breathed, managing a very weak smile.  "I . . . I didn't see you arrive," he tried to joke.

She barked out a choked laugh and then sniffled, which rather abruptly ruined the overall effect, leaning forward, letting her forehead touch Devlin's as she closed her eyes, as she savored the late relief that seemed to roll off of her in waves.

Drawing a deep breath, Ashur pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the incessant ache in his chest.  He shuffled over to them, said nothing as he scooped Evalysse up—she didn't seem to weigh anything at all—and trudged toward the French doors.  She was unconscious, probably from the exertion of healing Devlin, and he carefully laid her on the sofa.

A moment later, Devlin, leaning very heavily on Jessa, stumbled inside, and Ashur stepped forward to help her navigate him into a chair.

Jessa hurried out of the room, and Devlin slowly lifted his gaze to meet Ashur's.  "He was . . . on his way to take Irish," he said, his words slightly slurred.  "Saw . . . Saw me exercising one of the horses . . . Pure, dumb luck . . ."

Ashur nodded.  "And you told him that you refused to marry her," he concluded.

"Close enough," Dev muttered, letting his head fall back, his eyes drifting closed.  "Couldn't . . . do a damn thing . . . Pathetic . . ."

Ashur sighed.  "You're not pathetic," he argued mildly.  "Your kind were never meant to fight . . . And you protected Jessa, just the same . . . Thank you."

Devlin gave his head a slight shake—very likely the best he could muster, given the situation.  "Not . . . worth thanking me," he insisted.

"And I say you're wrong."

He scowled, or tried to.  A moment later, however, he choked out a rasping laugh—a sound that was more rueful than anything.  "So . . . did you come by just to save me?"

Ashur sighed.  On the one hand, he rather didn't want to bring it up.  On the other hand, maybe it was more important than ever, given what had happened.  "I wanted to talk to you.  Ben and I were talking, and we think . . . We think that you need to learn to defend yourself, and we thought that maybe learning to shoot a gun would benefit you more than anything else . . ." he admitted.  "If I hadn't stopped by . . ."

Devlin lifted a couple fingers.  "Guess I owe you one," he mused.  "He . . . He crushed  my windpipe . . . I  . . . felt it . . . Reached through my barrier, and . . ."

"Barrier?"

Devlin nodded once, eyes slipping closed.  "All light-youkai can . . . But they're usually . . . impenetrable . . ."

Shaking out a throw blanket that was carefully folded over a nearby chair, Ashur slipped it over Evalysse before grabbing another to drop over Devlin, who was already asleep, too.

Jessa hurried back into the room with a few bottles of water in her arms.  Handing them to Ashur, she leaned down to press her hand against Devlin's forehead.  "Should he be sleeping?" she murmured.

Ashur set the bottles on the coffee table and shrugged as he broke the seal on one and swallowed half of it in one long gulp.  "They're exhausted," he told her.  "I think it's fine."

"And you?" she finally asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she peered up at him.

He managed a wan smiled.  "I'm fine," he told her.  "I don't know that we should leave them yet . . ."

She seemed to agree with that, waving a hand at the fireplace to ignite the dormant logs arranged on the hearth.

"I'll give Ben a call.  Let him know that we're going to stay here for awhile."

She turned toward him suddenly, slipping her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his heart.  Ignoring the slight twinge of pain, he hugged her back, wincing as she shivered.

It was several minutes before she spoke, and when she did, her words were halted, stuttering.  "What did he mean?" she finally asked.  "The duke . . . Why would he want my child?"

Ashur grimaced since he'd rather hoped that she hadn't heard that.  Of course, she did . . . "I have no idea," he said, brow furrowing as he stared thoughtfully over her head at Devlin's sleeping form.  "But . . . I'm going to find out."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
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>  ** _MMorg  
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>  ** _AO3  
> _** Okmeamithinknow ——— Monsterkittie ——— minthegreen ——— Amanda+Gauger
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>  ** _Forum  
> _** Crow ——— lovethedogs
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> ==========
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _Why would he want her child_ …?


	82. Phoenix

Scowling at the monitor as Devlin shifted in his chair on the other side of the video connection, Ashur slowly shook his head.  It'd been almost a week since the altercation outside Devlin's mansion, and for the bulk of the days that had passed, the light-youkai had spent a lot of time sleeping—not really surprising, Ashur figured.  As much as no one wanted to say it out loud, everyone knew that he'd come damn close to dying . . .

"So, you have no idea why you father was so fixated on Jessa or why he would say that he wanted her child?"

Devlin sighed, rubbing his forehead in a rather exasperated kind of way.  "Not . . . really . . . I mean, the only thing that I can think of is so . . . implausible . . . Not _impossible_ , I guess—if you give credence to such things . . ."

Drumming his claws on the desktop, Ashur had to bite back the impatience at Devlin's quiet musings.  "And what's that?"

Shaking his head quickly, Devlin slumped a little lower in his chair.  "There's an old legend, but there's never been any real proof to it, so . . ." He laughed suddenly, raking a hand through his spiky white hair—Ashur didn't know if he simply wasn't wearing a concealment or if he'd just gotten entirely too used to seeing Devlin as he ought to be.  He had a feeling that it might be the latter . . . "Maybe he thought that Irish's daughter was bound to be the next phoenix."

"The . . . what?"

Apparently, Devlin thought it was funny enough that his laughter escalated.  "I told you, it's just an old legend, and there's nothing really to back it up.  It simply said that every thousand years, a phoenix is born with the power to destroy the world, but, if that were the case, then there hasn't been one in recent history to suggest that there's a bit of truth to the legends, anyway, so, maybe my father was simply grasping at straws or something."

"You're saying that your father was . . . insane . . .?"

"Well, there's a good chance that that's true enough.  I mean, he did try to kill me, didn't he?" Devlin grumbled.  Suddenly, he grew serious, and he sighed.  "Ashur . . . I, uh . . . I wanted to thank you . . ."

"You don't have to," Ashur insisted, trying to circumvent the conversation before it headed into uncomfortable territory.

"No, I do," Devlin insisted.  "If you hadn't come by when you did . . ."

Heaving a sigh, Ashur sat up straighter, rubbed his forehead.  "Why did he attack you?" he asked since he wasn't going to distract Devlin.

"Why, indeed . . .?" Trailing off, he waved a hand in blatant dismissal.  "He demanded that I come home, that I marry Irish since he'd arranged it all, and I said that I wouldn't, and . . . And I would suppose you could say that he didn't like it."

Ashur grunted.  "Sounds a little like my father, come to think of it . . ."

Devlin made a face.  "That's . . . really sad, actually . . ."

Ashur chuckled.  "You're coming over for the Halloween party tonight, aren't you?  I mean, it was Jessa's idea, and you really wouldn't want to upset her by not showing your face, now would you?"

"Oh, hmm, yeah, that . . . Do you honestly think she'd notice if I wasn't there?  She was rattling off a list of people she'd invited when she was over here last, and it sounded extensive enough . . ."

Ashur rolled his eyes.  "Would you honestly do that?  She said to make sure that you knew that she's expecting you and your mother in full costume with candy for the children—except for Kells, who isn't allowed candy because he's already hyper enough without it."

Devlin snorted.  "I'll be sure to bring him _lots_ of candy."

Ashur narrowed his eyes.  "Well, you know, if you really don't want to come . . ."

A soft knock on the doorframe drew his attention, and Ashur broke into a little smile as he waved the visitor inside.  "Ashur!  I just got here, so I wanted to say hello!"

"Oh, hey, Nami.  Your trip was good, I gather?"

The swan-youkai nodded as she stepped over beside him.  "Almost relaxing, actually.  Oh, is that Dev?  Hello . . . Are you coming to the party tonight?"

Devlin blinked.  "Me?  Oh, uh, of-of course!  I'll . . . I'll be dressed up.  In costume—A . . . A _nice_ costume . . ."

Manami giggled and wiggled her fingers before heading out of the room again.

Ashur rolled his eyes as Devlin leaned in closer, as though he could see more of her retreat.  "I take it that means you'll be here?  In . . . a _nice_ costume?"

Devlin sighed.  "Shut up, Philips," he complained.  A moment later, the video chat ended, and Ashur laughed to himself.

' _That wasn't really very polite—funny as hell, but not polite._ '

Ashur chuckled, pushing himself to his feet since he might as well go see who all had arrived thus far, while he had been holed up in his office.  ' _Maybe . . . Poor fool makes it entirely too easy, if you ask me . . ._ '

His youkai laughed.  ' _Well, then, tonight should be kind of fun, don't you think?_ '

' _I suppose . . ._ ' he allowed, spotting Jessa, who was heading up the stairs, showing Gin and Cain to a guest room.  ' _Maybe . . ._ '

 

* * *

 

 

Ashur blinked as he stared at the costume that Jessa had arranged for him.  Spread out on the bed, he could only sigh at the ridiculous gold and dark gray brocade short coat, the ridiculous looking matching pantaloons, the white tights . . . On the dresser stood a foam head with a stupid-looking white wig, all arranged in large curls and entirely disturbing, considering there was also an array of makeup sitting near it, and just what were the odds that it wasn't there for him . . .?  "Oh . . . my _God_ . . ." he breathed, letting his hand cover his eyes as he tried desperately to un-see what she thought he was going to wear to the costume party.

' _Serves you right when you told her that she could pick your costume, baka._ '

' _I'm . . . I'm not wearing that . . ._ '

' _Would you really disappoint your new mate like that?_ '

' _Oh, I think I would . . ._ '

A soft knock on the door drew his attention, and Ashur pivoted on his heels without moving his hand off of his face, though he did split his fingers to peer cautiously through them.  He was hoping, he supposed, that Jessa was about to come in with his real costume and the announcement that the hideous arrangement on his bed was just a really horrible joke . . . "Come in."

Nora stepped into the room, quietly closing the door behind herself.  She glanced from him to the clothing on the bed and back again, her expression quizzical, at best, and then, she raised an eyebrow, and, to her credit, she was trying not to laugh outright.  It didn't really do much to soothe Ashur's irritation.  "Oh . . . Um . . . Very interesting choice of costumes."

"It wasn't mine," he grumbled.

She nodded slowly.  "I rather thought not . . ."

Ashur snorted.  "Are you here to help me put that on?" he asked, jerking his head toward the costume.

"Well, I can," she allowed.  "But actually . . ."

Draping his hands on his hips, he shook his head.  "I . . . I can't wear that," he grumbled.

Nora chuckled.  "Ashur, can I ask you something?"

"Okay," he replied, scowling at the clothing, wondering how disappointed Jessa would be if he only wore the parts that didn't entirely offend him.

"Let's sit," she suggested, brushing past him and over to the chairs that stood near the French doors of the balcony.

He shot the outfit one last, scathing look, then followed Nora over to the chairs.  "What's on your mind?" he asked, satisfied for the reprieve, however brief, before he had to get ready for the party.

Nora stared at him for a long moment, hands folded primly in her lap, a rather enigmatic expression on her face.  "I've noticed that Jessa has been eating more in the last week or so . . . She even wanted porridge yesterday."

"I . . . can't say I've noticed," he replied.

Nora nodded slowly.  "She hates porridge.  She's always hated it.  Called it disgusting bowls of glue with some oats thrown in for good measure . . ."

"People's tastes can change over time . . ."

"Perhaps.  She also dumped out a perfectly good bottle of wine.  Said it tasted strange."

He shrugged.  "Maybe it was a bad vintage."

Narrowing her eyes, Nora stared at him.  "Ashur?"

". . . Yes?"

"Is my niece with child?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but let out a deep breath when Nora arched a delicate eyebrow at him, daring him to lie.  "Yes, she is.  Please don't tell her."

Nora's eyes flared wide then narrowed almost instantly as she slowly, slowly shook her head.  "You mean, she doesn't know?  How could you do that?  After you took it upon yourself to mate her, you didn't learn your lesson then?"

Grimacing at Nora's perceived scolding, Ashur sighed.  "It's not like that," he assured her, holding out his hands to assert his innocence.  "She said that she didn't want to know, that she thought it was interesting, how humans never know when it will happen, how spontaneous it is for them.  She asked me to surprise her, so . . . that's what I'm doing."

For a moment, Nora didn't look like she was going to accept his story.  Then she sighed.  "The two of you will be the death of me yet," she grumbled, running her hands over her face, down her cheeks, only to press them together before her lips.  "A surprise, is it?"

He nodded.  "Something like that."

Nora let out a deep breath as her hands folded into her lap once more.  "And Jessa said that Duke Portsmouth said something?  Something about wanting her child?"

Ashur grimaced.  "He did . . . Dev said he wasn't sure why, but he mentioned some weird story about an old legend . . . But he said there wasn't any truth to it, so . . ." Barking out a terse, incredulous laugh, Ashur shook his head.  "Some silly thing about a phoenix . . ."

"So, he knew," Nora murmured.

Ashur shot her a questioning glance.  "Knew?  Knew, what?"

She stared at him, her gaze direct, assessing.  She seemed to be thinking things over, maybe trying to make up her mind about exactly what she wanted to say.  In the end, she sighed, her fine brows drawing together as she reached over to pour another glass of wine.  "Duke Portsmouth is a bastard," she stated flatly.  "Whether you're mated or not, he would have kept trying to get his claws on Jessa.  He wouldn't have stopped, not ever.  Mark my words, what that man wanted . . . You must never let anyone know of it, you hear?  You _must not_ let anyone like Portsmouth ever get their hands on her."

Ashur frowned.  "Why?"

To his surprise, Nora didn't answer right away, but her eyes were focused on him, aglow with a terrible light, a foreboding sense of dread . . . "They say that a child is born every thousand years—a child that is both dreaded and revered—anticipated and despised.  They call it the phoenix, and she can only be born to parents of the purest bloodlines."

"Pure bloodlines . . .?"

She nodded.  "Surely you've noticed?  Jessa _is_ fire.  There's nothing about her that speaks of any other power. Pure fire—that's what she is.  It's what she's always been.  She is the flame that will burn well into the darkness, even after every other light has been extinguished, she will continue glow.  I knew from the day she was born.  I saw it for myself.  And you, Ashur . . . I daresay that you've descended a clean path—the greatest of the earth-youkai, right down to your very bones, is what you are: able to manipulate earth, even to change it through your will alone . . .?  That ability is not something that most can ever master, but you have—intuitively.  Pure bloodlines, the both of you . . . Jessa's daughter . . . _your_ daughter . . . She'll be the phoenix, and that child . . ."

He shook his head, unable—unwilling—to grasp the magnitude of what she was implying.  "That's nothing but a . . . a myth . . . a _legend_ . . . There's never been—"

Nora's gaze fell away, lighting on her hands, folded neatly in her lap.  "The last phoenix . . . She was a beautiful girl—a gorgeous child . . . the joy of my . . . of my life . . ."

"Wait . . . Your . . . daughter . . .?"

She nodded, a melancholy little smile just brushing her lips as a sadness the likes of which he'd never felt before, unfurled in her youki, and that sadness . . . It looked like wings—like wings of fire in the hateful dark . . . "Aria was no weaker nor stronger than any other flame-youkai.  We hadn't a clue until one day.  She was three, and she was playing in the yard.  I looked out the window, just in time to see her.  She grew wings—great wings of flame . . . Three years old, she was . . ."

"The . . . The phoenix . . ."

"They aren't creatures to be feared, at least, not in their first lives.  After we discovered Aria's wings, we started researching quietly—hunting down every bit of lore there was on the subject, and what we discovered . . . The appearance of the phoenix has marked the greatest changes in the world. What scientists deem the meteor shower that drove dinosaurs from existence was the first appearance of the phoenix that we could tell.  Centuries later, it was Pompeii, buried instantly under layers of ash, the eruption of the volcano, and yet, it wasn't a volcano, at all.  She was a phoenix, driven mad by such rage, by such grief . . . But she who wiped Pompeii off the face of the earth in one mighty sweep could have only been through one, maybe two, evolutions at best . . ."

"But you said that they aren't any stronger than any other youkai . . ." he said.  "No youkai has the strength to do what you're talking about.  It's not possible . . ."

An enigmatic little smile twisted the corners of her lips.  "Contrary to popular legend, phoenixes are not symbols of hope and of rebirth. They're destruction—pure destruction—all wrapped in pretty little packages with ribbons and bows and the soft laughter of children."

"What . . . What do you mean?"

"A phoenix evolves," she said simply, as though the entire thing could be summed up in that one statement.  "Their first life is the one that they're meant to have.  They grow, they mature, they learn to love—they find love—and it's that love that destroys them."

Ashur shook his head.  "But you're saying Jessa's child— _my_ child—"

"You will love her.  You won't be able to help it.  It's the nature of them in their first evolution.  They're pure love, you see?  But they find their mates, and when they die . . ."

"Then their mate dies, too," Ashur continued when she trailed off, as an icy grip, invisible yet no less real, seized him.  "So . . ."

She nodded.  "They don't resurrect right away.  It can take a year or more, and by that time, their mate is dead, so the phoenix . . . She dies again—slowly, painfully, a little at a time, only to resurrect.  Over and over again, she'll rise, and she'll discover that her mate is gone, fresh every time, as though she has forgotten, only to be reminded again and again and again . . . Tell me, Ashur, these creatures of love—how deeply, how strongly they love?  Just now many times do you think it would take before these creatures start to degenerate?  Before they start to self-destruct?  A mind that was once given over fully to love . . . To lose that love, to have to keep losing that love time and again . . .?  Sooner or later, it drives them mad, and that anger, that rage?  It ends up destroying them all.  I would assume that the phoenix who destroyed the dinosaurs was stronger than most, was able to hold herself together through far more resurrections than I care to think about."

Ashur frowned.  What she said made sense in a sick and twisted kind of way.  Even so . . . "Aria—your daughter . . .?  What happened to her?"

Nora's gaze clouded over, that surge of melancholy returned, and it was all Ashur could do to keep himself right where he was.  He wanted to escape from it, to distance himself from it.  He did neither . . . and she sighed.  "Aria was content to stay with Fergus and me for a long, long time. We came to America on holiday, though, and sometimes, I wonder what might have been if we hadn't . . . But she met this man—this . . . strange and eccentric man who told her stories about his home, deep in the mountains.  She was . . . enthralled by him, even though he was human.  Granger Drevin, may God smite his soul . . . He took her away in the dead of the night.  We searched everywhere for her.  By the time we found her . . ." Trailing off, hands clenched in her lap so tightly that her knuckles had leeched white, she squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, licked her trembling lips before she could continue.  "His home was little more than a ramshackle hut built deep on the side of the mountains in Montana.  The winter had been particularly harsh, and Aria was never able to withstand the cold.  She . . . She died on that mountain with that bastard.  He buried her behind his house in a shallow grave.  It was because of that cold, we think . . . Aria never rose again . . ."  Gaze clearing as she lifted it to stare at Ashur, she swallowed hard, nodded once.  "When your phoenix dies, Ashur, you make sure she's buried some place that she can't come back.  It's the only way."

He shook his head, unable to wrap his head around the information he'd been given, not yet.  "What about the others?  The other phoenixes?  If they come every thousand years, then why aren't there more tales of them?  The one before Aria?  What about her?"

"Ask the Inu no Taisho.  He might know something.  Or maybe not . . . There was one text—just one—that we found that spoke of the phoenix before Aria.  She originated in Japan, lost her mind upon her third rebirth.  She was powerful—ridiculously powerful, rending the single island of Japan into the smaller grouping of islands that we know today—and that was merely where she started.  Amaterasu, they called her: the goddess—"

"—of the sun," he finished with a grimace.

Nora nodded.  "According to the scroll, even the great and terrible Inu no Taisho—Sesshoumaru's father—could not defeat her, so he went searching for the power to destroy her, and he found it, but it came with a heavy price.  In order for him to attain such power, something had to be sacrificed.  It's the law and balance of nature.  To gain the power he required to silence Amaterasu, he agreed to give up the one thing that was most important to him in the world—his mate: Sesshoumaru's mother.  He lost all memory of her and she of him, but he was able to defeat Amaterasu, and then, he went on to find a human mate . . ."

"But this . . . This is all . . . How?  How do you know?" he demanded, unsure if he were arguing merely on principle or because . . . because of the unbidden fear that had wrapped around him the second that Nora had alluded to the idea of it . . .

Nora considered his question and sat forward, rolling up the long sleeve of the stark black blouse she wore.  On her forearm, barely visible, was a small mark—something that could have easily been mistaken for a scar or a birthmark even.  Ashur leaned forward and looked at it: a series of tiny scratches that combined on either side . . . like . . . like wings . . . "Jessa has the same mark on her shoulder.  You tell me you haven't seen it?"

Ashur slowly shook his head.  He had seen it.  Of course, he'd seen it.  It simply hadn't been remarkable before because he'd simply believed it to be a birthmark, just a shade darker than her luminous skin . . . "And it means . . . that she . . ."

Nora smiled.  "It's not a sad thing, Ashur.  You'll just have to be a little more diligent, a little more attuned to the things around you, around your family.  Just make sure that those very close to her understand the precautions that you must face if and when she dies.  Pompeii, as I said, was maybe one or two evolutions.  The rending of Japan?  That was a simple stomp of her foot in a fit of rage.  Duke Portsmouth and those like him . . .? He wanted that power.  Somehow, he managed to uncover the history, the lore, and if he was able to do so, then who else knows about it, too?  Do not doubt me when I say that that's why he went to MacDonnough.  That's why he had Orlaith killed—and Niall, by degrees.  If he were fool enough to have told anyone else, they _will_ try to kidnap your daughter—mark my words . . ."

"Over my dead body," he growled, unable to repress the rage that surged through him at the very idea that anyone would dare to try to harm his child—any of his children.

Nora nodded.  "As it should be."

He sighed.  "And . . . You're certain?"

She nodded again.  "I am."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
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>  ** _MMorg  
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>  ** _AO3  
> _** minthegreen
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>  ** _Forum  
> _** Nate Grey ——— lianned88 ——— Crow
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _The phoenix_ …


	83. Halloween

"Daddy!  You look funny!"

Ashur heaved a sigh as Kells danced around him, clapping his hands in his fluffy white tiger costume.  Kells wanted to be a lynx, but Jessa said she couldn't find a costume like that, so he'd settled on the tiger, instead.  As for Ashur?  He still wasn't sure why he'd put the God-forsaken costume on.  He supposed maybe he'd done it simply because Jessa had chosen it for him, and, after his talk with Nora, he'd just been too deep in thought to care or to argue it.  "Thanks, Kells," he replied.

"Why you wearin' pantyhose?"

He heaved another sigh and raised an eyebrow at the child.  "It's part of the costume," he said.

"A funny part!"

Ashur rolled his eyes.

"Now, Kells, it's not nice to tease your da," Jessa pointed out as she slipped her hand up under Ashur's elbow.  That her costume matched his was of little comfort, especially given that she looked absolutely stunning in her elaborately gorgeous dress, while he looked entirely stupid—and his head was ridiculously hot, too, under the stupid wig, but . . .

"You look absolutely charming," she assured him with a brilliant smile.

He sighed, scowling at the lipstick that stained the rim of the snifter in his hand.  "I feel . . . stupid," he admitted.

She laughed.  It figured.  "You'd have been the very height of fashion back in the day."

He nodded.  "And that's why everyone else here is laughing at me."

"They're not laughing at you," she insisted.  "They're all just having a wonderful time!"

Ashur sighed yet again.  At least Ben looked almost as ridiculous as he did.  Somehow, Charity had convinced him to dress up like a big cat, too—a panther, of course, but the painted on, triangle nose—pink, no less—and the stuck-on whiskers were kind of awesome, but the black plush onesie was pretty darned laughable, even if it did have a long, wired black tail sticking out of the rear . . . Charity was dressed as a lion tamer, complete with fishnet stockings and glittering top hat, while the girls were both dressed as cougars—surprise, surprise.  Manami was dressed as, quite possibly, the sexiest witch that Ashur could credit, while Gin Zelig was decked out as an adorable, if not somewhat risqué, French maid.  Zelig, miscreant that he was, didn't look that different than usual—except for the blue and white ' _Hello!  My name is_ . . .' sticker that he'd written 'Tai-youkai' on.  Bas and Sydnie were wearing matching outfits, kind of.  Bas was dressed like a really large football player while his diminutive wife wore a matching cheerleader outfit.  Evan and Valerie had opted to dress as Jack Skellington and Sally, which was good, considering Ashur had heard the rumor that he'd tried to talk his mate into Gomez and Morticia Addams . . . Laith was dressed as a rather overdone cowboy while Carol kind of looked like the girl doll from the Toy Story movies . . . Evalysse had gotten into the spirit of things, showing up in a cute little fairy costume, and Devlin?

Ashur shook his head.  Devlin . . . Well, to be completely honest?  Ashur wasn't sure what Devlin was.  He was caught somewhere between Robin Hood, a forest fairy, and maybe— _maybe_ —Peter Pan.  Where he'd found what he was wearing was anybody's guess, and even stranger, he really didn't seem to care that he looked borderline ridiculous in all the wrong ways . . .

Ashur sighed.  "Jessa?"

"Hmm?"

"What . . . the hell . . . is Dev?"

"I . . . I really don't know," she admitted, watching as the man in question handed Manami and Myrna—who hadn't had time to find a costume since she'd flown straight in after completing an assignment for Cain—each a glass of wine.  "It's cute, though . . ."

He grunted since 'cute' wasn't exactly the word he'd use to describe Devlin's costume.  "He's something," he muttered.

Jessa giggled, tucking a ringlet of hair behind her ear.  It had escaped the meticulously arranged pile of curls that she'd managed to pull her hair into.  "Oh, should we make our announcement now?"

He made a face.  "Could we wait till I look a little less . . . ridiculous?"

She laughed and gave his arm a little squeeze.  "You look wonderful," she insisted once more, smiling as the children—pretty much all of them—raced through the living room, waving candy in the air, and Ashur sighed when he caught sight of Kells, leading the pack with a half-eaten, full-size Hershey bar in his hands.

"Excuse me!" Jessa called.  Ashur gave up and tapped his glass, letting the sound of the chiming crystal echo loudly.  The talking slowly fell silent, and Jessa smiled.  "Ashur and I wanted to thank you for coming, and we also wanted to take this time to announce that we've set our wedding date."

"You're all invited—unless you make fun of me tonight.  If you make fun of me, consider yourself banned from my home forever after tonight," Ashur went on.  "We've chosen November 27th, so please keep that date cleared."

"Congratulations!" Gin squealed, looking thoroughly excited by the announcement.

"You're not wearing that to your wedding, are you?"

Rolling his eyes at Cain's bald question, Ashur shook his head.  "You heard the part about being banned, right?"

Cain laughed.  "I wasn't making fun— _exactly_ . . ."

"If you wear that for the wedding, does that mean the rest of us have to, too?  Because if that's the plan, then I'm not sure I want to be here for it . . ." Bas added.

"I hate them," he muttered under his breath.  Jessa giggled and tried to give him a stern look.

He let out a deep breath as Jessa was dragged away by most of the women.  Myrna hurried over to hug her, gasping and exclaiming when she saw Jessa's ring.  She turned long enough to wink at him before hugging Jessa's shoulders.  Ben chuckled as he stepped up beside Ashur.  "So, no laughing at you?"

"You have no room to talk, Ben.  You look absolutely ridiculous, too."

Ben chuckled.  "It's the one time of year that you can get away with looking entirely stupid, and no one will say a thing," he remarked.

"Oh, yeah?" Ashur countered, nodding in Devlin's direction.

Ben's chuckle escalated.  "Okay, yeah . . . He looks like a tree threw up on him."

Ashur finally chuckled, too.  "It probably did," he allowed, finally relaxing just a little.  "Hey, um . . . we need to talk."

Ben shot him a quizzical glance.  "Sounds serious."

Ashur nodded.  "It is . . . and I think I should probably talk to all of you about it."

"All of us, as in, Charity and me?  Or you mean—"

He slowly shifted his gaze to meet Ben's, and the panther nodded.  "Okay," he said, lifting his glass to his lips.  "Let me gather them up, and we'll meet you in your office.  I really doubt the women will miss us at all right now, anyway . . ."

Ashur watched as Ben slipped over to Cain and Bas before striding out of the living room and tugging the offensive wig off his head.

 

* * *

 

 

"All right.  I brought the booze," Evan Zelig remarked as he let himself into the rather cramped office, holding up an unopened bottle of sake, along with a handful of porcelain sake cups.

"Hand that over, young Zelig," Ben said, holding out a hand to take the bottle.  Evan grinned and gave it up.

"Congratulations, Ashur," Devlin said, stepping forward long enough to hand Ashur a white linen kerchief

Ashur took it gratefully and started wiping the makeup off his face.  "Thanks."

"So, what's this about?" Cain asked, settling himself on the window sill behind and off to the left of the desk.

"Death match to decide who your best man's going to be?" Evan quipped, handing out the cups of sake as Ben filled them.

"As if," Bas scoffed.  "And I'd win that, hands down."

"Because you're a damn howitzer," Evan shot back.

"Yes, I am."

Cain sighed and shook his head.  "Too many years of those two to count," he muttered.

"Actually," Ashur said, voice muffled by the kerchief, "I . . . I needed to see if any of you have any information about something . . . but before I say what it is, I trust you all understand that this . . . This must remain between us."

"Well, that sounds serious," Ben remarked, setting the bottle on the desk.  "What did you do this time?  Get Jessa pregnant without talking to her about it first?"

Heaving a sigh, Ashur stopped rubbing his face long enough to scowl at his brother.  "No, actually, she wanted to be surprised, so she doesn't know anything, and if any of you tell her before she figures it out for herself, I swear on all that is holy, I'll—"

"Oh, dear God, you did!" Ben exclaimed.

Ashur made a face.  "I'm only telling you all this because it goes along with what I wanted to talk to you about."

" _Wa-a-a-ait_ . . ." Laith drawled.  "You mean, you—?"

"I will _fire_ you," Ashur warned.

Laith chuckled.  "Good enough!"

"You have serious impulse control issues, baby brother," Ben added.

Ashur dropped the soiled kerchief on the desk and lifted a hand, curling his fingers a few times as he slowly shook his head.  "All right.  Get it out of your systems so we can move on."

Ben grinned.  "I'm done," he promised.  "So, what is it you wanted to discuss with us?"

Somewhat reassured that the ritualistic ribbing was, indeed, over, Ashur rubbed his forehead.  "I . . . I was told today that Jessa's child— _my_ child . . . She will be the phoenix."

Devlin stood up straight.  Ben choked on the sip of sake he was taking.  Cain's eyebrows shot up in surprise, only to lower as he drew them together in a somewhat puzzled frown.  Bas slowly shook his head.  Laith seemed unsure of what, exactly, Ashur meant.  Evan only nodded.  "I told you that it was only speculation," Devlin remarked slowly, carefully.  "I mean, if that's what my father truly believed, but I—"

"Nora told me," he replied.  "She . . . She was the mother of the last one, though she believes that her daughter was stopped from reviving because she died in a cold climate and, instead of burying her properly, the guy just put her in a shallow grave."

Cain shook his head.  "Ashur . . . The existence of the phoenix . . . That's just a myth . . ."

"That's what I thought, too," Ashur replied.  "Nora says that she has the mark—Jessa.  It's separate from her youkai marking, and I've seen it, too . . ."

"But there's no proof—nothing about the existence of them in the past," Ben went on thoughtfully.  "Nora told you all of this?"

Ashur nodded, leaning his temple on his fingertips, leaning his elbow on the arm of the chair. "She says it wasn't a meteor that crashed into the earth, that ended the dinosaurs.  It was the first phoenix.  Pompeii . . . even up to the splitting of the Japanese islands.  All of it . . . She said that Sesshoumaru's father put a stop to Amaterasu .  She is the one who broke the island into smaller ones—the ones we know today.  He put a stop to her rampage before she could destroy more . . ."

"But I thought that a phoenix was a symbol of hope, of rebirth," Bas said.  "Then why . . .?"

"I read something about that once," Evan piped up, his usually ebullient demeanor tempered by a quiet pensiveness.  "It was, uh, when I was in Japan for training.  I ran off one day, hung out with this girl, and she was into that kind of mythic mumbo-jumbo.  She took me to this old library—she said it was a secret—and she read me this thing about it . . . If I remember rightly, it said that the true form of the phoenix was destruction . . ."

"Nora said that they don't start out that way.  They're love—pure love.  That's their true natures.  The problem is after they find a mate.  They love their mate so much that if they die, if it takes a year or more for them to be reborn, their mate has died, and . . . "

Cain grimaced.  "So, they die over and over again because their mate is dead . . ."

Ashur nodded.  "And that process breaks their . . . their minds—warps them . . ."

"Makes sense," Ben ventured quietly.  "How many times can one be reborn, only to end up dying because their mate is already gone . . .?   How many times before one's mind breaks, too?"

Ashur grimaced.  "The only way to stop it is . . . is to put their bodies into a climate so cold that they cannot regenerate."

"And your daughter—the child that Irish is carrying . . ." Devlin murmured.

Ashur drained the sake cup and dumped more into it, downing that, too, before he trusted himself to speak again.  "If . . . If I had known this ahead of time, I . . ."

"You wouldn't want to have a child," Ben supplied quietly.  "Ashur, that's not the answer, and—

"I didn't think it was," Ashur retorted.  "I just . . . I want your promises that you'll help us.  That you'll help us keep her safe.  If we fail . . ."

Cain let out a deep breath, patting his pockets for his rumpled pack of cigarettes.  "We'll do everything we can," he promised.  "Does Sesshoumaru know anything about it?"

"Nora said that, in order for him to gain the ability to defeat Amaterasu, his father had to . . . to give up his first mate.  He was made to forget her, and she him.  I would guess that's why he didn't die from the loss of his mate, why he ended up finding a human mate later . . . As far as Sesshoumaru goes, I have no idea what he does or doesn't know."

Bas broke into a wan smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.  He looked worried, no doubt about it, even if he was trying his hardest, not to show it.  "There's no reason for it to become an issue," he reasoned.  "If we're the only ones who know, and the proper precautions are in place, just in case . . . the worst comes to pass . . ."

"We should probably talk to Nora, too, hear her story first hand, if you will," Ben suggested.

"I'd rather hold off on that until after Jessa realizes that she's pregnant," Ashur said.

"Yeah, about that . . . How, exactly, does that work, old chap?" Devlin chimed in.

Draining his cup for the third time, Ashur shot Devlin a quelling glance.  "She said she envied humans, that they got to be surprised when they got pregnant, so she told me just to do it, not to tell her, so that she could have that kind of surprise, too."

Cain considered that, idly watching a rising smoke ring as it dissipated in the air overhead.  "It's good to know you haven't completely lost your mind," he remarked.

"Hmm, yes, well, thanks for making that engagement ring for her," Ben added thoughtfully.  "Charity saw it and now she wants to know what I'm—and I quote—good for—since I cannot command earth like that."

"Just give her a gift card," Ashur shot back dryly.  "You're damned good at those . . ."

Ben chuckled.

"You made that ring?" Cain intoned.  "Very nice . . ."

Evan nodded.  "You should probably take that and get it appraised for insurance purposes."

"It'd be easier to make her another one than it would be to do all the insurance stuff."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but Evan's right," Bas added.  "I mean, we made the diamonds for our mates' rings, but they're still insured.  Well, Dad didn't."

"Kind of a loser . . . Bet he couldn’t even do the kongosouha," Evan mused.

Cain snorted.  Loudly.  "I could if I wanted to," he grumbled.

"Okay, Cain," Evan shot back.  "Next time we're around jiijii, we'll see."

Cain grunted something entirely unintelligible under his breath.  "Anyway, foolishness aside, you're going to have to call Sesshoumaru, anyway, aren't you, or am I wrong in the assumption that Jessa's going to want to be Kells' mom officially?"

Ashur nodded.  "She does, and yes, I was planning on calling him this week."

"You could ask him when you talk to him if he knows anything about the phoenix," Ben suggested.

"Absolutely," Ashur replied.  "That aside, I'd love to see the adoption done by the time we get married."

"Well, since we're all here, why don't you tell us who you were wanting to be your best man," Devlin said.

Ashur pondered that for a moment, then stood up, rounding the desk as he headed for the door.  "I tell you what.  You guys can figure it out however you want, and you can tell me later on."

That said, he left the office, breaking into the barest hint of a smile as he strode toward the living room to scrape Kells off the ceiling . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Go get your Jessa and Ashur custom tea_!  https://www.etsy.com/shop/WolfenRose?ref=listing-shop2-all-items-count#items
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
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> ==========
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>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Laura ——— Goldeninugoddess ——— oblivion bringr ——— xSerenityx020
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>  ** _AO3  
> _** Monsterkittie ——— Amanda Gauger ——— NyteAngel ——— minthegreen ——— Okmeamithinknow ——— patalaxe ——— Savvyrae
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>  ** _Forum  
> _** monsterkittie ——— Nate Grey
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>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _So, who will it be_ …?


	84. Whirlwind

"There's the bride-to-be!"

Jessa smiled as she stood up, brushing off the full skirt of the rust-colored dress.  "Myrna!  You're early!" she exclaimed, accepting her cousin's warm hug before hurrying over to fetch a cup for her.  "Just in time for tea," she said.  "Nora made those scones earlier—orange and currants.  They're wonderful."

"They smell wonderful," she said, reaching for one as Jessa filled a mug with milk and a bit of honey.  "I got done with the assignment that Cain sent me to do, so I figured I might as well drive up a few days early—give me some time to spend with you before all the craziness sets in. I'm sorry my brother can't make it.  Life as a photojournalist, I guess.  But he sends his love . . . Is everything taken care of?"

Setting the mug of tea before Myrna, Jessa sat back down and nodded.  "Tell him thank you and that it's fine.  As far as everything else . . .?  I actually think it is," she allowed with a happy sigh.  "Thank God . . . Makes you glad that you only get married once because, to be honest, it's been kind of a pain to plan . . ."

"A one shot thing, hon.  Better make it exactly what you dreamed of.  Is it?"

Biting her lip, she shrugged.  "No, but . . . but my dream included Ma and Da, and . . ."

Myrna winced and reached over to give Jessa's hand a squeeze.  "But you know, as corny as it sounds, they'll always be a part of you."

Jessa nodded, quickly dashing a hand over her eyes as she smiled brightly.  "I know," she replied.  "That's why, though . . . That's why  I thought it'd be nice to just have close friends and family.  I guess it's kind of my new dream.  Now, I just want to be settled.  I want to focus on the future and . . . and I just want to breathe . . ."

Myrna stared at her for a long moment, then raised an eyebrow, as though she were daring Jessa to lie to her.  "And you're sure you want to marry him?"

Jessa giggled.  "I am," she said.  "I . . . I love him, and he loves me . . ."

Myrna smiled.  "Good.  Then everything's as it should be."  Letting out a deep breath, she quickly shoved a long lock of blonde hair behind her ear.  "To be honest, I started to wonder . . . I mean, I thought that maybe the two of you would be able to help each other, you know?  With him and everything he went through, and you . . . I . . . I hoped that you'd understand one another, but then after the gala . . ."

"I . . . I didn't know how he felt then," Jessa admitted.  "I didn't know anything . . ."

Myrna made a face.  "I'm really sorry, you know.  I thought . . . Well, I didn't think he'd hurt you like that, and it was all my fault . . ."

Jessa considered that.  Myrna had done it on purpose, hadn't she?  Sent her to stay with Ashur, not because she didn't care, but because she'd thought that maybe . . . "I wouldn't change it," Jessa said, and the moment she did, she knew that it was absolutely true.  "I . . . I belong here with him; with Kells . . ."

Myrna sighed.  "It's just that I know my faults.  I know what I'm not good at, and I'm not good at helping people to heal.  That's just not me, but when I thought about you, remembered how you were even as a child . . . Oh, Jess, you know, you were so quiet, so serious, and so, so beautiful . . . When my parents died, I was still just a baby—younger than you are now—but times were different back then.  I . . . I grieved for, like, a day, and then . . . And then, I put them away.  I thought that it was better if I didn't think about them, didn't dwell on them—that I could make myself okay by not allowing myself to remember.  I guess it worked for me, but you . . . You've never been tough like that, and I didn't want you to be.  I didn't want you to feel like you needed to be, especially not for me.  I'm so glad you've found where you belong.  You have, haven't you?"

Jessa laughed, reaching for a scone.  "I have," she agreed.  "Thank you."

 

* * *

 

 

Sesshoumaru stepped into the living room, ignoring everyone as he stepped over to pour himself a drink.  The women had all decided to go to an afternoon presentation of _Disney Princesses on Ice_ at the Quebec Civic Center with the girls, followed by a special 'Princess Dinner' at a local restaurant that had been reserved for the festivities, while the boys, deciding that Disney Princesses were 'gross' were outside, running around, like hyper little hooligan.  He figured that at least one of them would be inside soon enough, probably crying or angry since it was the nature of the beast, so to speak.

Turning away from the wetbar with a glass of sherry in his hand, Sesshoumaru stopped, frowning thoughtfully as the feel of something vaguely familiar washed over him.  It had been . . . centuries since he'd felt youki like that, and he quickly glanced around without moving his head.  The only one he didn't recognize was the youkai sitting near Ashur, and without a second thought, Sesshoumaru strode forward, flicking a hand to remove the man's concealment.  The white hair, the palest green eyes . . . He recognized that coloring, even if he still wanted answers.  "You're a light-youkai," he stated flatly.  "From where do you hail, and how did you get here?"

The young man blinked, shifted rather uncomfortably, as the others in the room—Ashur aside—stared at him with varying degrees of interest.  "I'm from England," he said.  "You don't seem surprised."

"I've not encountered one of your ilk in a long while," Sesshoumaru stated, settling into the last empty chair.  "I thought your kind was relegated to little more than myth and legend."

Devlin shrugged.  "My mother is like me, too," he admitted.  "I'm here because my father . . . Well, it's a long story, but he wanted me to marry Irish—Jessa."

"Which is partially why I wanted to talk to you," Ashur interrupted.  "It's been brought to my attention that Jessa . . ." He grimaced.  "There's a strong possibility that the baby she's carrying the phoenix."

Sesshoumaru narrowed his gaze just slightly as he stared at the earth-youkai.  "The phoenix . . . And why would you believe this?"

Ashur sighed, rubbing his forehead.  "Her aunt told me."

"Her aunt?  What does she know?"

"She's the mother of the last one."

"The phoenix is just a . . ." Trailing off, Sesshoumaru blinked slowly as the strangest sense of _déjà vu_ crept over him, even if he had no idea why.  "And your mate is pregnant," he said, leveling a look at Ashur instead.

Ashur nodded.  "She is," he allowed.

"But she doesn't know, and Ashur won't tell her," Ben added.

One eyebrow quirked.  "How does she not know?"

Ashur shot his brother a quelling glance.  "She wanted to be surprised," he said.  "It was before I found out about all of this.  We think that Devlin's father had knowledge or at least suspected that Jessa would mother this child, so that's why he was so set on seeing Devlin mate her."

"And he would have achieved not only perpetuation of the light-youkai, but control of the phoenix, as well," Sesshoumaru concluded.  "Surely you understand that literal proof of the existence of the phoenix is limited, at best, and embellished, at worst."

Sitting back in his chair, fingertips steepled before his face, Ashur slowly flicked his gaze up to meet Sesshoumaru's without moving his head.  "Nora said your . . . your father destroyed the one before her daughter—Amaterasu, the goddess of the sun—of the _flame_."

"My father . . ."

Ashur nodded.   "That's what she said."

A strange sort of buzzing erupted in his head, a wash of barely formed memories that somehow didn't feel like his own . . . What the earth-youkai was alleging seemed impossible, and he knew that, and yet . . .

"Nora said that the Inu no Taisho . . . that he was forced to give up something in order to gain the power to defeat Amaterasu," Ashur went on quietly.  "She said that he was forced to give up—"

"Hahaue," Sesshoumaru interrupted, eyes flashing open wide as the dry cracking, the shrill splinter of the crystal glass in his hand popped in the air.  Ignoring the wash of sherry that mingled with his blood as the splinters of crystal pierced his flesh, Sesshoumaru's fist tightened as something in his mind slammed open, as a torrent of memories that encompassed years?  Centuries? shot to the fore . . .

 _The lonely cliff that overlooked the choppy waves so far below, the scent of the salty sea as it slammed against the rocks . . . The lonely call of the birds amidst the acrid stench of the scorched land . . . The pensive stiffness in the great and terrible Inu no Taisho's stance_ . . .

" _What will you do, chichiue?_ "

" _It comes at great cost, Sesshoumaru," he said, his voice tempered by the things that he did not give voice.  "The power I require_ . . ."

" _And what choice do you have?" he challenged almost belligerently_.

" _It isn't that simple," he cut in with a terse growl.  "You see the world in black and white because of who you are—because you are still young.  You do not understand_ —"

" _I understand," Sesshoumaru cut in coldly.  "You are not my father.  The father I know does not hesitate, does not make excuses, when he knows the true course to take_."

 _Pivoting slowly, the wind picking up the cape of fur affixed to the shoulders of his armor, the ends of his sash, glowing brilliantly in washes of blue, of crimson as they whipped around him, the long ponytail held suspended . . . The flash of amber eyes, oblong pupils dilating in his anger as he pinned Sesshoumaru with a fierce glower.  "You understand_ nothing!" _he growled.  "You presume to tell me who your father is?  I tell you this: I_ am _your father, and you . . . You need not understand —and I pray you never, ever will_."

 _He possessed the grace to look away at the blatant set-down, lowering his gaze in deference to his father's words.  "The phoenix must be stopped," he said quietly—almost humbly—almost_.

 _Turning his attention back to the sea, the Inu no Taisho nodded.  "She must be stopped," he agreed.  "I have found a way to achieve the power to defeat her, but the cost . . . is high_."

" _Is it so great that you will hesitate?_ "

" _Remember, Sesshoumaru . . . There is nothing in this world that is ever granted for free_ . . ."

 _And he'd watched as his father turned, as he walked away_ . . .

And somehow, those memories . . . They'd been locked away, hadn't they?  But his father's words, as they echoed in his head . . . The price he'd paid for that power?  He'd been forced to give up his mate, and something in that had forced those memories from Sesshoumaru, too . . . "Hahaue was the price he had to pay . . ." he murmured, more to himself than to anyone.

Ashur sighed.  "That's what Nora believes, yes."

Sesshoumaru said nothing right away.  Standing up, letting the shards of broken crystal fall from him, he strode toward the French doors, stepped outside without another word.

The bitter cold wind tingled on his skin, in his nose as his gaze shifted over the land.  There was a raw beauty in the wide open, in the dormant ground.  In his mind, a million memories seemed to shift, slowly, as though they were struggling to find where they rightfully belonged . . .

Stretching out his hand, feeling the shards of crystal that had embedded themselves into his palm fall away, he struggled to make sense of the things that he thought he knew—the things that he hadn't understood at all . . .

"Tou-chan!"

Blinking away the lingering memories that were still tumbling around in his head, Sesshoumaru caught sight of his youngest: his son, who dashed toward him with an almost anxious expression on his face, bright silver hair flowing out around him in a wild disarray, magenta eyes—so very much like his mother's—and he knew that the boy was looking for his approval . . .

Without a word, he hunkered down, caught the child as he threw himself against Sesshoumaru's chest.  "What's wrong, Koujizen?" he asked, standing up slowly, refusing to relinquish his grip on the child.

The three-year-old quickly shook his head.  "I'm sleepy, tou-chan," he said, ferreting his head under his father's chin.

Breaking into the barest hint of a smile, Sesshoumaru let out a deep breath.  There were moments when he thought that perhaps he ought to be a little more strict with Koujizen, and yet, he was the one who always seemed to want just that little bit of reassurance, and really, was there anything wrong with that . . .?

The expression on his father's face when he'd turned to glare at Sesshoumaru . . . And Sesshoumaru hadn't understood it then, had he?  But now . . .

Fleeting images of his own children: of Rin and Toga and Aiko . . . and now, of Koujizen and his twin sister, Chiasa . . . What Sesshoumaru had not understood, not back then . . . His great and terrible father, the Inu no Taisho, understood very well, just what the cost of his duty would be . . . and he had chosen to do it, anyway . . .

 

* * *

 

 

"You have been quiet tonight—more quiet than usual."

Sesshoumaru said nothing; didn't turn, didn't acknowledge his mate's presence as she quietly closed the doors that led to the guest bedroom of Ashur's mansion.

"Did something happen while we were away?"

"My memories were altered," he said.  "Everything that I took for granted—everything I thought that I understood . . ."

"What memories?" she asked, stepping up beside him, wrapped in the warmth of a thick fleece blanket.

"I had no memory of my father beyond childhood," he remarked, narrowing his gaze slightly at the sinking sun on the horizon.  "Hahaue dying, and . . ."

He could feel his mate's gaze on him, her troubled stare that he couldn't yet meet.  "She died when you were a child, didn't she?"

He shook his head slowly.  "She isn't dead—that I am aware of.  She . . . She never died . . ."

"That's . . . not possible . . ."

Tongue flicking out, dampening his lips, he frowned.  "She . . . She couldn't stand to look at me.  My face . . . reminded her of someone—someone she couldn't remember, and she left me."

"Sesshoumaru . . . This doesn't make sense."

He sighed—a very rare sound from him.  "My father needed power.  He had to gain the strength to kill Amaterasu—the phoenix.  She'd risen.  She broke the land of Japan into tiny islands, and she would have destroyed it all, so chichiue . . . But, in order to gain that power, he had to give up something in return.  He gave up hahaue—gave up all memory of her, and she, of him, but some part of her remembered . . . Over time, my own memories shifted, and I forgot . . . Somehow, I came to believe that she had died when I was a child, but . . . " Trailing off, he glanced down at her, gazed into those sparkling eyes that he so loved . . . "That is why chichiue found InuYasha's mother.  She . . . She truly was his mate, just as hahaue . . . That's why . . . That's why I hated her—hated them . . . hated _him_ . . . my own brother, and I . . ."

She turned toward him, held the blanket closed with one hand, reached out with the other to hold his cheek.  "Sesshoumaru . . ."

"So, I ask myself, if it happened again, if I . . . If I needed that kind of power, could I . . .?" He grimaced just for a moment—a fleeting expression that melted away as quickly as it had appeared.  "Could I give you up if that was what was asked of me, and I . . ." His gaze slowly locked with hers again, brightening as though he were ashamed of his own truths—of what he might well perceive as a weakness.  "I couldn't do it, Kagura.  Let the phoenix rampage—let her destroy the entire world because, if I had to live a lifetime without you?  I would allow it all to burn to ash.  I would watch as the entire world crumbled, because I could not . . . not ever . . ."

Kagura smiled just a little.  "Does the phoenix even exist?"

He didn't respond to that.  Instead, he slipped his arms around her, held her close in the falling night . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
> **_MMorg_ **
> 
> — — —
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** minthegreen
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Kagura_** :  
>  _His mother is alive_ …?


	85. Turmoil

Letting out a soft sigh as she snuggled closer against Ashur's chest, Jessa savored the stillness, the quiet, the overwhelming sense of peace that only existed at this time of morning, well before the rest of the house came to life.  Two days until the wedding, and she'd be lying if she were to try to say that she wasn't starting to feel the stress of it all, and even though she was looking forward to the big day, she also had to admit, at least to herself, that she also couldn't quite wait until it was over.

' _You realize, don't you, that insisting that Kells come with you on your honeymoon isn't exactly traditional._ '

' _But he should come along, especially since we're going back to Ireland—especially since he's going to be created as the Earl of Cantaven . . ._ '

' _And he's ridiculously excited about that._ '

She giggled to herself, at her youkai-voice's observation.  To be truthful, she'd had to do some convincing to get Ashur to agree to it, but when she'd suggested that they take a slightly prolonged trip and reminded him that Kells really ought to be there, then he'd decided that it would be all right.  After all, she wasn't just marrying Ashur: she was also solidifying her relationship with Kells, too, and he deserved to be a part of it.  In fact, when they'd decided to write their own vows, she'd made a point to write down her promises to Kells as a part of hers.

Now, the only thing left was the final fitting of her gown in a couple hours and then, the girls had planned a bachelorette party, overnight trip to a very exclusive spa in Greenland for pampering and relaxation before the wedding on Saturday . . .

Savoring the feeling of just being close to Ashur, she sighed and bit her lip, wondering idly if she had enough time to wake him, to pick up where they'd ended last night . . .

' _You're turning into an absolute pariah, my lass . . ._ '

She blushed a little bit and giggled to herself.  ' _It's his fault,_ ' she thought.  ' _It's some kind of  . . . animal magnetism . . . They should bottle it—whatever it is . . . Bet they'd make a mint of money off of it . . ._ '

' _Yes, well, do remember that you're a lady, won't you?  A little decorum goes a long way . . ._ '

Again, she giggled, mostly because her youkai was taking a very obvious shot at the way Jessa had pinched Ashur's rear after dinner last night.  She couldn't help it, though.  She had been walking through the living room to grab her notepad with all of her wedding plans in it to tell the ladies about it, and he'd been there, filling a snifter of cognac, and, well . . .

"Do you really have to go to that spa?"

Rolling her eyes as she broke into a little smile and leaned up on her elbow to peer down at him, Jessa quickly kissed Ashur's cheek.  "You all insisted that you could take care of the children for one night," she reminded him.

He slipped his arms around her and sighed.  "That's not the issue," he told her.  "Who's going to keep me up at night if you're there, and I'm here?"

She couldn’t quite contain the blush that rose in her cheeks at his very blatant reminder that their bedroom hijinx were most certainly her idea last night . . . For some reason, she couldn’t seem to help herself. The last couple weeks, all it took was one look, one smile, one cocked eyebrow, and she was more than ready to grab Ashur and drag him off for a few hours behind closed doors . . .

"What are the odds that no one will miss us if we just stay in here all day today?"

Letting out a wistful sigh, Jessa snuggled against him, burrowing her head under his chin.  "That sounds good," she breathed.  "I wouldn't mind, but I swear, your man-friends?  They're worse than women."

He snorted.  "Unlike you ladies, who can sit around all day and drink tea and gossip, we men are busy doing man-things and discussing important man-business."

She snorted.  "That is the most sexist things you've ever said."

He chuckled, but didn't deny it.

"Are you having a bachelor party?"

He grunted.  "God, no," he muttered.  "Considering Ben's ended with us all in lockdown?  A repeat of that is just not necessary, thanks."

"You were arrested?" Jessa said.

"Someone started a fight," he replied.  "I don't remember who, and I don't care.  All I know is that I'd rather avoid that if at all possible this time around.".

"Hmm . . ."

"Promise me something?"

She blinked at the sudden seriousness that had crept into his voice, tilting her head back so that she could see his face.  "What's that?"

He let out a deep breath, staring at her with a seriousness that she hadn't seen in his gaze in quite some time while he traced small circles on her bare shoulder in an idle sort of way.  "Every morning should start like this, don't you think?"

She smiled and wiggled up to kiss him—a long, slow, sweet kiss that instantly ignited the blood that surged through her veins.  "I promise," she murmured between kisses.  "Every morning . . ."

He seemed to relax, twining his fingers in with hers, reaching up with his other hand, sinking it deep in her hair.  "Can we just skip the next few days and get going on the honeymoon?"

"You're the one who wanted to have a planned wedding," she reminded him.

"I realize," he grumbled.  "I'm really stupid sometimes . . ."

"Oh, I wouldn’t go that far," she told him.

He kissed her fingers, intertwined with his.  "You're very magnanimous, Mrs-Almost-Philips."

"I'll miss you at the spa . . ."

"Okay, now you're just being mean," he grumbled.

The door opened, and Jessa giggled as Kells scooted into the room with Puff-Puff in tow.  Seeing that they were already awake, he uttered a little shriek of laughter and launched himself onto the bed, landing on his knees seconds before Jessa pulled him over between them.

"Morning, Mommy!" he exclaimed.

Ashur shorted.  "What about me?" he asked pointedly.

Kells shot him a cursory glance before cuddling up on Jessa's lap so that Puff-Puff could climb onto his lap in turn.  "Oh, morning, Daddy."

Ashur rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh as he rolled out of bed.  "Come on, Kells," he called, heading toward the bathroom.

"But I took a shower yesterday!" Kells complained.

Ashur grunted and shook his head, but didn't stop moving.  "And you take one every day, so let's go."

Kells pinned Jessa with a _'Do-I-Have-To_ ' look, and she laughed and kissed him on the cheek.  "Go on, lad," she told him.

He didn't look very pleased, but he did scoot off the bed to follow his father into the bathroom with Puff-Puff fast on his heels.

"So much for that morning quiet," she murmured to herself as she reached for her robe.  Then she giggled and stood up, figuring that she might as well get moving, too.  After all, the sooner she jumped in, the sooner Saturday would get here . . .

 

* * *

 

 

"There's been no more talk of the dissidents, creeping around?"

Sesshoumaru adjusted his napping daughter in his arms and shook his head.  "Not even a whisper," he said.

"Which isn't nearly as reassuring as it should be," Gunnar mumbled, scowling at the slim-file open in his hands.

"You're such a fatalist," Bas remarked dryly.

Gunnar grunted.  "I'd prefer 'realist'.  To think that they were subdued that easily would be entirely arrogant, don't you think?"

"Unfortunately, I'm inclined to agree with Gunnar," Ben said.  "The only question is, _when_ they'll try again."

Ashur rubbed his forehead and slowly shook his head.  "Without knowing who's taken otou-san's place, it's hard to predict what they may do—or when."

"Zelig tells me that a couple of them came after you.  Have you heard of any more threats?" Sesshoumaru asked, leveling a pointed look at Ashur.

"Both alluded to the idea that there were more than just the two of them who know where I am," Ashur admitted.  "I haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary lately, but I'll admit, I'll be relieved once the fence is done and the barrier is in place."

Sesshoumaru nodded.  "And you feel confident enough to spend your honeymoon in Europe?"

"Dunborough is isolated enough that I believe we can stay there for the duration without drawing undue attention."

"Provided that MacDonnough doesn't let it accidentally slip that you're there," Cain grumbled.

"I think that he's willing to leave us alone as long as we don't press the question of what really happened to Orlaith O'Shea."

Sesshoumaru's gaze narrowed.  "He had something to do with her death?"

Ashur shook his head.  "I'm sure he did, though I doubt he did anything directly.  Manami told us that he . . . _suggested_ that she do something about the O'Sheas.  It was an ultimatum: she either did what he wanted, even if he was careful not to issue it as a formal order, or she was fired.  She opted to walk away.  There's reason to believe that the actual tampering with her car was the work of Carl Kingston since he would do anything to have Jessa marry Devlin, but there's not a doubt in my mind that MacDonnough knew and gave his blessing."

"And yet, you did not press this?"

"Jessa's been through enough, don't you think?" Ashur countered evenly.  "Even if MacDonnough did have something to do with it, what would be done?  The only one—the only one—who could lawfully and rightfully punish him would be you, Sesshoumaru, and I daresay you would rather not interfere.  Nothing is going to bring her parents back, and she knows that, too.  Is it worse to suspect, but never verify, or is it worse to know for certain and never be able to do a thing about it?  If she doesn't wish to pursue it any further, then I am not going to make her do so—not when there is zero chance that she'll ever really see him receive any kind of justice."

Sesshoumaru didn't confirm or deny Ashur's statement, and that was fine, as far as Ashur was concerned.  He could completely appreciate Jessa's desire to just let it alone.  In her mind, there wasn't anything that could bring her parents back, no way to bring a dead man to justice, no way to convict a tai-youkai . . . It was her choice to let it all go.  Ashur, however, would be lying if he didn't wish, on some level, that there was a way to hold MacDonnough responsible.

"Hardly seems fair," Devlin mumbled, letting out a deep breath as he wandered over to the wetbar to grab a bottle of water.  "Father got what he had coming, but . . . But Irish is getting married, and she's doing it without the support of her parents, and that . . . that's unforgivable . . ."

"How's your mother holding up?" Cain asked, leaning against the fireplace mantle where he had been staring into the flames.

Devlin made a face.  "They . . . They weren't true mates," he admitted.  "I don't look for her to suffer for his death."

"And it's . . . safe for you to be working in such a high-profile office as the youkai special crimes?" Sesshoumaru asked.  He didn't sound as though he were trying to second guess anything.  He actually sounded genuinely concerned.

Devlin shrugged almost offhandedly.  "I've been . . . I've been learning how to shoot a gun," he said. "I will not be left helpless, ever again."

Ashur wasn't surprised to see the slight light of understanding in the Inu no Taisho's gaze.  It was no secret that, as a whole, youkai tended to frown upon the use of guns.  They were considered less honorable, but then, in a situation like Devlin's, where the youkai simply did not possess the offensive capability, the question became, was it worse to allow someone to be unprotected because of that stigma? Judging from the understated emotion on the hard-to-read youkai's face, Sesshoumaru agreed . . .

The French door slammed open as Bailey dashed into the living room, his face pale, eyes wide, almost frightened, and he dashed over to his father. "Daddy!"

"You know you're not supposed to be tearing around the house in your snow boots, Bailey," Bas remarked mildly.

Bailey winced but grabbed Bas' arm.  "Daddy, but he's got Kells!  We were building a fort, an' he ran up an' grabbed Kells!"

Ashur shot to his feet at the mention of his son's name.  "Who?" he demanded, striding toward the doors.

"Who does?" Bas demanded.

"The _stranger!_ "

That was all Ashur waited to hear as he slammed the door open and sprinted outside.  The panic in the child's youki hit him, full-on, and he ignored the burn of the snow under his bare feet, spotting the huge and hulking youkai, taking in the agitation in his youki as his rage spiraled higher.

" _Stop!_ "

Skidding to a halt just off the veranda, Ashur scowled at the youkai he didn't recognize, gritting his teeth hard as an overwhelming sense of complete and utter helplessness surged over him, thick and hot and seething, but the man held Kells, suspended off the ground, his arm around the boy's neck, although Kells was growling and struggling enough to reassure Ashur that he wasn't being hurt too badly—yet.  Huge, hulking—not as big as Bas, but what did that matter when he held onto the very small child?—unmistakable despite the knowledge that he had never seen this particular man before, ever.  That didn't matter, not when . . .

"Let him go," Ashur yelled, very aware that the other children were cowering behind the youkai, and they were scared.  The cloying feel of their collective fear was enough to nearly choke him.  "Put him down _now_."

"Daddy!" Kells squeaked, renewing his struggle against the man's grip.  Raking his tiny claws against the man's arms but doing nothing in the way of true damage, given that his claws were covered in the silicone safety tips, the boy fought hard.  The man flexed his arm, squeezing a small yelp out of Kells and escalating Ashur's overall rage as the others drew up beside Ashur, not one of them daring to pass—not one of them willing to put Kells in any more danger than he was already in, not to mention the children behind the man, too.

"I don't think so . . . I'm not that dumb."

"Dumber than you think you are," Gunnar said.  "Put him down."

"Are you really fool enough to challenge us?" Cain demanded.

The man chuckled rather nastily.  "Not all of you—just him.  I just want him," he said, jerking his head toward Ashur.

"Who are you?" Ashur growled, starting to step forward again.  Kells yelped when the man's grip tightened, and he stopped.  He couldn't open up a fissure under him, couldn't do much of anything as long as he held onto Kells.  He'd never felt quite so helpless before in his life, even when Hana had immobilized him with her senbon—not even as he'd been forced to watch Hana kill his mother . . . His eyes widened suddenly as understanding came to him.  The same muddy brown eyes, the same shaggy, frizzy black hair . . . the same swarthy skin . . . "You're Ray Johnston's brother."

"So you know him.  He was my younger brother.  You killed him, didn't you?"

It was less of a question and more of a statement.  "He attacked me," Ashur said.  "Yes, I killed him."

A flicker of rage crossed the man's features.  "Is that right?"

"Let my son go," Ashur ground out, racking his brain as he struggled to find a plan—some way to get Kells and the rest of the children away from him—he couldn't think of a thing that wouldn't end up hurting his son, and the realization was enough to choke him.

The man's eyebrows shot up in feigned innocence.  "But he attacked me—is attacking me now.  Can't you see it, _Lord General?_ " he goaded, the jagged edges of his youki spiking in the winter air.

"Kells!" Ashur barked tersely.  Immediately, the boy stilled in the bison-youkai's arms, though his fear didn't lessen.  Fighting valiantly against the consuming urge to lose control, Ashur ground his teeth together hard.  "Your issue is with me.  Let him go."

"You killed my brother and his mate, left my nephew without parents, and you have the balls to demand that I let _your_ precious child go?"  Uttering a terse and harsh laugh that was full of irony and devoid of humor, the bison unleashed a sound unlike anything that he'd ever heard before—almost enough to make him clap his hands over his ears as the reverberation rattled through him

A flick of a hand beside him, a flash of light like a crack of lightning, and Ashur blinked as Johnston's body still, paled, and, in the space of a breath, his body seemed to crystallize.  For a brief moment, Ashur thought that maybe he'd been encased in a crystalline covering, but no, it wasn't like a cocoon or anything of the sort.  It was his entire body, the crystal glowing a soft blue in the afternoon sunshine—weak and watery, as it slipped through it with a horrifying kind of beauty—not unlike the tragic beauty of a dying rose.

Ashur didn't stop to ask questions.  Sprinting forward, he grabbed Kells, breaking away the crystal arm that held him, closing his eyes as late panic gripped him tight.  The boy sniffled and broke into a loud wail as he held onto Ashur, burying his face in his neck, his tiny body shaking, quivering as he clung to him . . .

Sesshoumaru strode past him as the children darted around them, seeking out the comfort of their respective parents.  The bright green ribbon of the Inu no Taisho's energy whip flicked out, shattering the bison-youkai's crystallized body in a flash of light, in an explosion of dust that sparkled in an entirely appalling way in the frigid sunshine.

Ashur turned to face Sesshoumaru, noticing only then that he still held his daughter in one arm, but it was the strange expression in the depths of his gaze that gave him pause.  A profound sense of bewilderment—so out of place on the man's usually impassive countenance . . . As though he were as surprised by what he'd just done as the rest of them were . . .

"I think it's time to bring the children in for the day," Sesshoumaru said, voice smooth, even, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

"Ojii-sama?" Gunnar called after him.

"Olivia hasn't moved.  I daresay she is still frightened."

Gunnar scowled at his grandfather's back but turned and strode over to retrieve the little girl, still rooted on the spot.

"Sesshoumaru, what . . . was that . . .?" Cain asked, arms full of two of the triplets—Hayden and Connor.  Their sister, Daniella, along with Evan's son, Jack, were nestled securely in Evan's arms.  The North American tai-youkai looked just as confused as everyone else, as though he wasn't sure what to make of what he'd just witnessed, either.

At first, Ashur thought that Sesshoumaru wasn't going to answer.  Turning back toward the house, he paused long enough to scoop up Koujizen in his free arm.  "That was one of chichiue's attacks.  He called it Crystal Oblivion . . . I'd forgotten it . . . until now . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** sutlesarcasm
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Monsterkittie ——— Okmeamithinknow ——— Savvyrae ——— minthegreen ——— Amanda Gauger
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Crow ——— lovethedogs
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _Crystal Oblivion_ …?


	86. Vows

"An' Sesshoumaru turned him into a giant rock an' made him 'splode!"

Biting her lip since she wasn't nearly as excited about Kells' story as Kells was, Jessa rubbed her belly.  For some reason, it was feeling a little out of sorts, almost a little nauseous, probably because the only thing she'd had to eat so far was a couple bites of soda bread and a tepid cup of tea.  "I'm glad he was there," she said, forcing a smile as she ruffled the lad's hair.  "Your da was probably scared out of his mind."

"Daddy's not scared of nothing!" Kells insisted, eyes widening , as though the very idea of Ashur being afraid had never, ever occurred to him.

"It's 'anything', and sometimes even daddies can be scared.  I would have been scared.  I would have been terrified . . ."

"Why?"

She smiled.  "Because you're the most precious thing on earth to your da—and to me.  That's why."

A soft knock on the door interrupted the moment as Kells hopped up off the stool he was sitting on and skittered over to open it.  Nora peeked inside and smiled.  "I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"Oh, no," Jessa insisted, smiling at her aunt, giving her a careful hug so that she didn't wrinkle her dress too much.

"Master Kells, your father is looking for you," Nora said.

The lad's eyes grew round, and he tugged the heavy door open to let himself out of the room.

"That boy . . ." Jessa mused with a smile.  Then she grimaced, pressing her hand against her stomach once more.

"What's the matter, lass?" Nora asked, brow furrowing in alarm as Jessa waved a hand quickly.

"I'm fine," she insisted.  "Just a little hungry, I guess . . ."

A strange kind of look passed over her aunt's face, but she sighed.  "Didn't you eat that tray I sent up to your room this morning?"

Jessa wrinkled her nose.  "I bit.  I was so excited, though . . ."

Nora didn't look impressed with Jessa's reason, and she shook her head.  "I'll be right back," she insisted.  "I think the caterers are setting up in the reception room, so they may have something . . ."

Jessa opened her mouth to protest, but her aunt quickly ducked out of the room, and she sighed instead.

They'd rented a local chapel, complete with a very cozy reception room, for the wedding.  It wasn't very big, but it was so quaint, so warm and welcoming, that Jessa had loved it upon first sight.  With the old stone work, the rich and heavy wood trims, even the beautiful stained glass windows, it reminded her of the old chapels that dotted the countryside back home, and the long breezeway that connected the chapel with the reception room was a gorgeous area.  The travertine floors, the marble pillars that spiraled up to a vaulted ceiling with wide plate windows, giving the illusion that one was outside, even when they weren't, with a beautiful aquarium built under the glass floor that ran the length of the walkway, dotted by soft garden lamps fashioned of very old, very worn wrought iron, blackened with age . . .

Ivory flowers of all kinds had been fashioned into long garlands, wrapped around each of the pillars, adoring the marble and iron benches.  She hadn't had enough time to properly inspect the florist's work, but Carol had assured her that it was all exactly as she wanted for the pictures later on, and the reception room?

Just the thought of that particular area brought a dreamy little smile to her face.  It was fashioned to look like a giant gazebo, large enough to easily accommodate a hundred people or more.  Considering their entire guest list was around thirty, there was also plenty of room for the festivities to follow, including the string quartet that Jessa had hired.

Now, however, she was feeling just a little anxious, and as much as she was looking forward to this day, she had to admit that she was also looking forward to it all being over, too.

Carol slipped into the room with a radiant smile, the skirt of her ivory silk dress rustling quietly  as she hurried over to hug Jessa.  Then she turned her around, held onto her shoulders as she stared at Jessa in the standing oval mirror.

Her gown was simple A-line/princess styled confection of flowing chiffon, held up by a couple thin straps despite the cascading ruffle sleeves.  The front of the full but simple skirt just brushed the tips of her satin shoes, but the long, trailing ends of the waist tie in back dragged along behind her.  It was understated and elegant, nothing elaborate, and somehow, entirely perfect, and the only jewelry she wore to add embellishment was the fire stone that Ashur had helped Kells make that exactly matched her engagement ring . . .

Fussing with an errant lock of hair that had already escaped the careful arrangement that had been drawn up on the sides and secured in place with delicate enamel combs adored with the tiniest white satin pedals, Carol sighed and then laughed.  "It's not going to stay up through the reception," she warned.

Jessa nodded.  "That's all right.  Ashur likes it down, anyway."

Carol gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze.  "You're gorgeous, you know."  Then she made a face.  "Oh, now, don't cry!  You'll ruin your makeup!"

Reaching for a tissue from a box on the small table nearby, Jessa sniffled.  "I can't help it!" she squeaked, blotting at her eyes, grimacing at the traces of eyeliner that came away on the tissue.  "I don't know why I feel so emotional . . ."

Carol laughed.  "Because it's your wedding day," she told her.  "And it's almost time, so you _really_ need to stop crying . . ."

Choking out a sound caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh, Jessa turned around, hugged Carol tight.

"Absolutely not!  It's bad luck, I tell you!  You're not coming in, and—"

"That's nothing but silly superstition, and I only need to see her for a minute, Nora.  I—"

"Life is hard enough without adding more bad luck, superstition or not.  You'll see her soon, anyway, so—"

Jessa sniffled and uttered a terse laugh.  "It's okay, Nora," she called, setting the cup of tea aside.  "I don't believe in that sort of thing, anyway, and . . . and I'd like to see him, if you don't mind."

Her aunt looked less than pleased by Jessa's statement, but she stepped aside with a very pronounced 'hrumph' as she slipped a cup of tea into Jessa's hands.

Ashur stepped into the room, but stopped short, mouth falling open as he stared at her.  He looked absolutely stunning—if that was the right way to put it—wearing the slate grey tuxedo that he'd ordered for the wedding, his golden brown ponytail laying over his shoulder, eyes the exact shade of the mellow summer skies.  For some reason, seeing him in his finery made her feel a little shy.  Even so, she stepped toward him, reaching out to fuss with the single ivory rosebud affixed to his lapel.  "You wanted to see me?" she asked softly.

Ashur blinked, seemed to shake off the reverie that he'd been caught up in as the barest hint of a blush crept into his cheeks, and he smiled.  "I . . . made something for you," he admitted almost sheepishly.

"Oh?"

Letting out a deep breath, he drew a bouquet of stone flowers from behind his back, and Jessa gasped, eyes widening as she slowly, hesitantly, reached out to take it.  "This is . . . You made this . . ."

He shrugged and leaned down to kiss her cheek.  "You mentioned moonflowers," he muttered, seeming almost embarrassed.  "If you don't want to use it, that's fine.  I just thought . . ."

Reaching up with one hand, she leaned up to kiss him gently.  "I love them," she said.  "Thank you."

He finally smiled, running his fingertips down her jaw as he stared at her for another long moment.  Then he sighed.  "I better get down there," he told her, "before Dev comes looking for me, anyway."

She laughed as he stepped back, sparing her one last, long, lingering look before he let himself out of the room.

Carol hurried over to look at Ashur's gift.  "Wow, those look real," she remarked.

Jessa nodded, gently touching the delicate petals.  A lovely arrangement of the rare moonflowers—the flowers that weren't possible to use, given how quickly they died.  Ashur had made her a full bouquet of them, and every last detail was so ornate, so life-like, that it was hard to believe that they were really fashioned out of stone . . . Wrapped in a layer of lace and satin and ribbon that matched her dress, the ethereal beauty they possessed was haunting, right down to the glimmer, the sheen, of every petal—petals so whisper-thin that she could see the light from the window passing through them . . .

"That is a man in love," Nora remarked, her gaze softening as Jessa smiled at the bouquet in her hands, brushed a single tear from her cheek.  "We haven't much time," she went on, digging into her pocket.  "But your mother . . . She wanted you to have this on your wedding day . . ."

Jessa blinked, let Carol take her bouquet as she accepted the small parcel, wrapped in nondescript brown paper.  "What's this?"

Nora smiled a little sadly.  "Orlie asked me to give this to you on your wedding day," she admitted.

Pulling the small white envelope, Jessa grimaced when she saw her mother's neat script inside the plain card.  ' _Carry this on your wedding day, Jessa.  Something old . . . Love forever, Ma_.'  With trembling fingers, she tore the paper away, only to wince at the sight of the intricate and beautiful Irish lace kerchief. . .

" _What's that, Ma?_ "

 _Orlaith smiled at four-year-old Jessa, who was sitting neatly on the edge of the bed, watching her mother dress for the fancy dinner that she wasn't allowed to attend, but that her parents were.  "This?  This is a kerchief, Jessa—a very special kerchief.  Your . . . Your grandmother—my ma—she made it for me . . . for my wedding day . . . And one day, when you marry, you'll carry it, too, if you like_."

" _May I?_ "

 _Orlaith laughed and quickly kissed her cheek as she tucked the kerchief into her pocket.  "Of course, my lamb_ . . ."

Nora sighed and carefully turned Jessa's face, gently dabbed away the tears that the memory inspired.  "She never wanted you to cry, lass."

Jessa sniffled, taking the bouquet back from Carol, holding it, along with the kerchief, before her.  "I know," she replied.

Nora smiled, pausing for a long moment to gaze upon her, her own gaze brightening suspiciously.  Finally, though, she gave herself a mental shake, waved her hands to hurry them all along.   "Come now, Jessa.  Time to see you married!"

 

* * *

 

 

Jessa walked down the aisle, holding onto the hand of a fidgeting three-year-old boy who looked entirely proud to be the one escorting his mommy, and Ashur smiled, meeting Jessa's gaze through the sheer veil, her eyes bright, her smile brighter.

"Far better than you deserve," Devlin murmured beside him.

Ashur nodded.

"Did I do good, Daddy?" Kells asked in a loud whisper that sparked a rumble of subdued laughter in the church as the sounds of the harpist, playing _Sí Bheag, Sí Mhór_ , or Small Fairy, Big Fairy, softly faded away.

Ashur chuckled and ruffled Kells' hair.  "You did," he told him.  "Now, go stand with Dev for a little bit."

Kells did as he was told, but only after insisting that Jessa kiss him on the cheek, which she was more than happy to do.  Only then did he skitter over to stand next to Devlin as Ashur reached for Jessa's trembling hand.

"Dearly beloved, we have gathered here on this day to bear witness to and to celebrate the joining of this man and this woman, Ashur and Jessamyn, into the state of holy matrimony.  Is there anyone here who has just reason, why these two should not be wed?  If so, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Thankfully, no one did speak up, which was all well and good, considering Ashur might well have killed someone if they had.  Now that the big moment was here, though, he couldn't quite help the wish that the good pastor would hurry it along a little bit.  Expounding on the virtues of marriage, the poor man didn't realize that everyone in attendance either was youkai or hanyou or had ties to one, and they, better than anyone, understood those things instinctively.

"Now, Ashur and Jessamyn have written their own vows," the pastor said, holding out his hands toward them.

Ashur cleared his throat as Jessa handed her bouquet to Carol.  "Jessa . . ." He sighed.  He already knew what he'd written.  He'd read it over enough that he'd memorized it.  The thing was, he wasn't really great with words.  They'd failed him often enough in the past.  Even so, this one time . . . "I never thought that I'd find you.  I gave up, looking for you, long ago, or maybe I never really tried.  I . . . I thought that I was the last person who truly deserved the kind of happiness—the kind of contentment—that you've brought into my life, and you did it without ever asking me for anything in return.  For every smile, every laugh, every tear, every second that you looked at me, that you saw something that I'll never understand . . . I thank you, and I . . . I promise you that I will share everything with you because you'll be more than my wife.  You'll be my entire world—you and the family we create together."

She choked out a little half-sob, blinking rapidly to stave off the tears that he could smell, but this time, it was all right, wasn't it?  They were happy tears, and he knew that, too . . .

"Ashur . . . When I met you, I was lost in every sense of the word, and it wasn't your responsibility to find me, but you did.  You found me, and you led me back, and you never let me go, even when I . . . when I was too frightened to believe.  You are everything I'm not, and I want to grow with you in a lifetime of laughter and love and even tears . . . You've given me so much, and you've done it because that's who you are.  You _are_   love—my love—my sunrise, my midday, my sunset, my night . . ."

He smiled at her, gave her hand a little squeeze, started to turn to face the pastor once more, but Jessa cleared her throat before letting go of his hand, before grasping her skirt as she knelt  and held her hands out to Kells.  The boy giggled and bounced over to her, and she smiled as she touched his cheek, as she tucked his hair behind his ear.  "And Kells . . . I will never be the perfect Ma.  I'm young, and I . . . I'm still learning, but . . . But I promise you, _a chroí_ —my heart—that I will always love you, and that I will always put you first . . . and I will always, _always_ be your ma."

Kells giggled again, throwing himself into her arms, and Jessa sniffled, hugging him tight for a long moment.  "Don't cry, Mommy," he said, grasping her face, veil and all, with his tiny hands.  "I love you, too, Mommy!"

She choked out a laugh and gave him another quick hug before she accepted Ashur's hand to help her to her feet once more.  Then he nodded at Kells, who darted back over to stand beside Devlin once more.

She took the handkerchief that Ashur offered her, reaching up under the veil to dab at her eyes.

The pastor smiled indulgently, waited for her to pull herself together, before clearing his throat.  "Do you have rings?"

Ashur turned, took the ring that Devlin held out to him while Jessa took the one from Carol.

"Ashur Kyouhei Philips, do you take this woman, Jessamyn Rose Orlaith O'Shea, to be your wife: to have and to hold from this day forward and forsaking all others to cleave only unto her for as long as you both shall live?"

He cleared his throat, forcing down the suspect thickness that had gathered.  "I do."

"Take the ring and place it on her finger."

Ashur slipped it over her knuckle.

The pastor's smile widened.  "And do you, Jessamyn Rose Orlaith O'Shea, take this man, Ashur Kyouhei Philips, to be your husband: to have and to hold from this day forward and forsaking all others to cleave only unto him for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," she murmured.

"Then take the ring and place it on his finger."

She did, and he chuckled.

"Then by the power vested in me by the province of Quebec, I now pronounce you husband and wife.  Would you like to kiss your bride?"

His hands were shaking just a little as he lifted her veil, as he pulled it back over her head.  Jessa rose on her tiptoes, meeting him halfway as he slipped his arms around her, as he kissed her—the sweetest kiss, the wash of emotion enough to humble him, and yet, long before he was ready to end it, he forced himself to do so, dropping his forehead against hers, just for a moment.  "I love you," he murmured.

Her smile was positively radiant.  "I love you, too."

Extending his hands, indicating that they should turn around, to face their assembled family and friends, the pastor chuckled.  "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my absolute honor and privilege to present to you Mr. Ashur and Mrs. Jessamyn Philips!"

 

* * *

 

 

"So . . . lost your wife already, have you?" Ben asked, slipping into the conspicuously empty chair beside Ashur at the table arranged strictly for the bride, groom, best man, maid of honor, and Kells.

Settling back in his seat, Ashur chuckled.  They'd already shared their first dance to a beautiful Irish song, _Carolan's Dream_ after spending a good forty-five minutes, posing for pictures in the breezeway.  Instead of confining them to the wedding party, however, they'd opted to incorporate everyone in attendance, featuring pictures with the bride and the children, with the women, with family on both sides . . .  pictures of Ashur in much the same way.  After those were finished,  she'd told him that she needed to change and had hurried away.  That was about ten minutes ago, and Ashur had been happy enough to sit down and accept the well-wishes from those in attendance while he waited for her.

"She said she wanted to change," he replied.

Ben chuckled.  "Or she just said that so that she could slip out the back way."

Ashur grunted.  "Not even you could ruin my mood today, Ben, though you're welcome to keep trying."

Charity slipped into the chair on Ashur's other side.  "Ben, you'd better not be picking on the groom on his wedding day," she warned.

Ben winked at his mate.  "Wouldn't dream of it."

Before Charity could respond, a sudden hush fell over the room, spearheaded by the abrupt end of the song that the string quartet was playing, and Ashur broke into a smile when he saw why.

Jessa strode forward, stopping in the middle of the dance floor facing him with Emmeline on one side and Nadia on her other one, but that wasn't what made him smile.  She'd changed out of her wedding dress, only to put on another dress that looked exactly the same, except the skirt had been modified into a mini skirt that brushed mid-thigh.  Under that, she wore black tights and a pair of black Irish hard shoes.  The twins were dressed in much the same way, and Charity giggled.  "So, that's why Jessa wanted to buy their dresses," she mused.

Jessa let go of the girls' hands, letting her arms drop to her sides as she crossed one foot behind the other, toes resting on the floor, while the girls mirrored her stance.

The song that started was a classic Irish tune, full of bounce and rhythm, and Ashur clapped when the three started to dance.

"Oh!  I didn't realize she taught them how to dance like that!" Charity breathed, staring at her daughters with her gaze alight with all the pride in the world.  The girls' golden hair, pulled up high on both sides in the cutest little piggy tails that bobbed up and down with the hopping motion of the dance.  Tiny feet managing intricate steps, the light thump of their shoes, hitting the floor in unison, they smiled so brightly, absolutely having the time of their lives.

Jessa flicked her heels, turning, kicking, perfectly in time with the twins.  The little ones hopped back, scuffing their shoes against the floor, thumping the toes of their left feet over their right and stopping while Jessa scooted forward, feet keeping perfect time to the music.

She danced by herself, feet moving just a little faster with a little more complexity, shoes cracking on the floor with every step, every bounce.   Careful, measured hops and kicks, the flirt of her skirt, flowing around her, fluttering out, dropping down again in time with her movements.

Feet flying so quickly that they seemed to blur at times, she met his gaze, smiled, just for him, and he chuckled softly as that sense of his stomach, tightening, only to release with a flash of sensation surged through him, just like it had been, the very first time she'd smiled at him . . .

And then, Jessa hopped back, stopping between the twins, and Ashur laughed when Kells skipped forward, hands clasped behind his back.  He turned to face his father, feet keeping time with the steady pace of the music, flipping his heel outward and then straight.  The twins danced forward on either side of Kells, all three of them, dancing in perfect syncopation as Jessa joined in behind them.

Everyone in the room was clapping along, thoroughly enjoying the entertainment while Jessa danced with the children.  "You're not going to join them?" Ben asked, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

Ashur chuckled.  "I'd ruin it," he said.

Charity glanced up from her phone—she was filming it.  "That's the cutest thing I think I've ever seen," she murmured.  "Mama and Papa will love this!"

Ashur stood as the four of them ended the dance with a flourish, a hearty stomp to the last note of the song, clapping as he stepped around the table.  Kells darted over to him, grabbed his father's legs as he peered up at him anxiously.  "Were we good, Daddy?" he asked.

With a soft laugh, Ashur scooped up the boy.  "You were terrific, Kells," he assured him.

Kells squealed happily, bouncing in Ashur's arms.  "It was a surprise!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, well, you'd better get that out of your system," Ashur warned.  "We've got a long time on that plane soon."

"'Cause we're going to moon!"

Barking out a terse laugh, Ashur shook his head.  " _Honey_ moon, Kells . . . Mooning is something entirely different . . ."

"I wanna go play now, Daddy . . ."

Ashur kissed his temple, then let him down.  "Behave yourself."

He darted off, waving a hand over his shoulder as he sped over to Cain's twin sons, who were stomping around, obviously trying to mimic the dance they'd just seen.

"So, I've danced with my son," Jessa remarked, slipping her hand under his elbow.  "What about his da?"

He chuckled and offered her a slight bow.  "Before that . . ."

"What?"

Digging into the inner pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a folded document and handed it over.

She shot him a curious glance before carefully unfolding it, and when she read the first line, she gasped.  "It's . . ."

"You're Kells' mom now in every single way," he told her.

She choked out a soft sob, smothering the sound with her hand over her lips as she stared at the birth certificate that Sesshoumaru had brought with him from Japan.  As the Inu no Taisho, he was able to fill in the blank where Kells' mother should have been listed.  It was all official.

He chuckled, stepping forward, pulling her into a warm hug.  "Will you be all right?" he asked, rubbing her back as she sniffled, as she struggled not to cry.

She nodded, and he sighed since she was nowhere near under control, but he supposed he could understand that.

"Wow, making her cry already?  That's terrible, Ash.  Really awful."

Ashur grunted, but smiled.  "You're still here, Broughton?"

Devlin laughed, hands dug deep into the pockets of his trousers.  "How about it, Irish?  Care to dance?  I swear I'll not make you cry."

Jessa choked out a laugh, dabbing at her eyes with Ashur's kerchief that he'd handed to her during the wedding ceremony.  "Well, I . . ."

Ashur took the birth certificate and stowed it back into his pocket once more.  "Return her when you're done," he said.

Jessa smiled at him before allowing Devlin to take her hand and lead her off to dance.

"Congratulations."

Turning to smile as Gin Zelig stopped beside him, Ashur nodded.  "Thank you."

She laughed.  "I'm so happy for the both of  you!  And Jessa . . . Just beautiful!"

"She is," he agreed.

Gin sighed in a dreamy kind of way, golden eyes shining gently.

"Would you care to dance?"

Gin nodded and allowed Ashur to lead her off to dance.  "So, do you have any more advice for me?" he asked as he slipped his arms around her, holding her at a respectable distance.

She stared at him, her brows coming together as she considered his question.  And then, she smiled, her effervescence radiating from deep down inside  her.  "Look for something every day that you two can laugh about," she said.  "Even on days when you don't feel like laughing—especially on those days."

"That's . . . good advice," he decided.

She giggled and leaned closer.  "It wasn't mine," she whispered.

"Oh?"

Shaking her head, she wrinkled her nose, but her smile didn't fade.  "My uncle, Souta told me that once, and I love to laugh, so . . ."

"It's still good advice," he said.

She nodded, her gaze slipping over to light on Jessa, who was laughing at whatever Devlin had just said to her.  "Ashur?"

"Hmm?" he intoned, following the direction of her stare.

Gin bit her lip, shot him a quick glance before looking at Jessa once more.  "Never let her go."

Ashur chuckled, smile widening when Jessa glanced at him, only to stop, to blush just a little, her eyes sparkling, bright.  "Oh, I don't think that'll be a problem," he said.  "Not now, not ever . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Sí Bheag, Sí Mhór_** _(Meaning Small Fairy, Big Fairy) written by Turlough O’Carolan_.
> 
>  _If you're interested in actually hearing the song Jessa walked down the aisle to, you can listen to it here …_ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K0mot5vBCBc
> 
>  ** _A chroí_** _: (uh Khree) "my heart".  Gaelic_.
> 
>  ** _Carolan's Dream_** : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QFlKx3YPL5I
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Silent Reader ——— oblivion-bringr
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Savvyrae ——— minthegreen ——— patalaxe
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** lovethedogs ——— lianned88
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _Now for the honeymoon!_


	87. Niall

"Should we go look for him?"

Chuckling softly as he glanced up from the accounting reports on the entirety of the O'Shea estates, Ashur let them fall from his hands as he hauled himself to his feet to step over and wrap his arms around the new Mrs. Philips.  "He's exploring, Jessa," he reminded her.  "You're the one who said that this place was safer than anywhere, right?"

Biting her lip, she continued to stare out the window with a sigh. "But we thought he was safe in Canada, too, and . . ."

He grimaced since she didn't need to finish that thought.  He still felt it acutely, didn't he?  That altercation that could have so easily gone in a totally different direction . . .

Kells, held in that bastard's arms, dangling like he was little more than the last leaf, clinging to a great tree limb . . . All that fear, the feeling of being completely helpless . . . They weren't things that he would forget anytime soon, but damned if he'd ever allow a situation like that to happen again . . .

To that end, he'd actually been checking on the tracker in Kells' shoe, and he had a good idea of exactly what the boy was up to, and that was fine.  Besides . . . "You'd know if he were in trouble," Ashur reminded her.  "You told him that you'd feel it if he simply infused his youki into that necklace you made for him."

"I know," she said with a sigh.  "But what if he's caught and he can't grab a hold of it?"

He shook his head.  "You bought him that kiddy cell phone," he reminded her.  He'd rolled his eyes at the time when she'd presented it to the child.  It was only able to retain five phone numbers, though it did have a camera, too.  Kells had thought it was fantastic until he'd asked if he could download the _Horrible Pigs_ app game.  Some of the interest in the device waned, though, when he learned that he couldn't download anything, so there was that . . .

She made a face.  "He could drop that easily," she maintained stubbornly.

"You're worrying too much, Jessa," Ashur told her, kissing her temple, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

That earned him a petulant scowl.  "I'm going to go make sure he's all right," she said, pulling away from Ashur, heading for the doorway.

"He's been fine the last three days while he's out exploring.  He's fine now, and you know, letting him do this is good for his sense of independence, too."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she shot him a particularly pouty expression, and she opened her mouth to speak, but must have thought better of it, because suddenly, she snapped her mouth closed and smiled, except it was an entirely calculating sort of look—one he really didn't trust at all . . . "You could come with me," she suggested, her voice dropping in tone, in pitch.  It was more of a caress that sent a very pleasant shiver, right down his spine.  "We could just . . . go for a walk . . ."

Leaning back, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, but he couldn't help the grin that surfaced on his features, either.  "Just a walk, huh?  So . . . We wouldn't be out there, looking for Kells?"

"Of course not!  But if we happened to find him, then that'd be all right, too, don't you think?"

He chuckled.  "You're really not good at manipulation, Jessa—something that I'm very glad of.  I suppose, though, if you really want to go for a walk, that'd be fine.  It's not too cold out for you, is it?"

"It's not that bad," she told him.  "It doesn't get as cold here as it does in Canada."

Following her out of the study and down the long hallway, he retrieved her coat from the foyer closet and held it open for her, refraining from commenting on the fur-lined arcticalla-fleece parka.  Arcticalla-fleece was a recent innovation that claimed to preserve the body's natural warmth, even in temperatures below -40.  Somehow, it just wasn't surprising that Jessa's coat was made of such a thing . . .

They stepped outside, and she gasped sharply as the cold wind hit her.  Ashur reached for her hand, and she took it, using her free one to hold the fur-lined hood in place.  "Maybe we should have gone somewhere else for our honeymoon," he said, only half-joking.

She shook her head.  "I love it here," she insisted.  "Besides, there were those things that needed to be done while we're here, so it was kind of like killing two birds with one stone, so to speak."

He made a face that she missed completely since she could only actually see whatever was directly in front of her face.  "Yeah, I think it might be wise to hire someone to oversee the estates," he told her.  "None of the reports they sent were done in the same way, so making sense of them is taxing, at best . . ."

She sighed. "Da had a steward, but he either quit or was dismissed during the changeover.  Mr. Rickhill . . . He worked for him for such a long time—ever since I can remember . . . He was a very nice man—a badger-youkai . . ."

"Would Dunbyrne know of him?"

"I would imagine so . . . He's been the family's attorney for a long while, too."

Ashur let out a deep breath and took a step closer to her, breaking the wind with his own body as they wandered over the land.  It wasn't overly cold, no, and he could only guess that it had something to do with the proximity to the shore.  Still, because of the temperatures, the gray skies above carried the threat of rain instead of snow, and the gray sheet that seemed to linger over everything, almost like a fog that was barely stroked with a touch of gossamer.  Yet again, it occurred to him: the rolling hills, the rises and falls of the land, even the trees and the flowing stream that he could smell, and, if he listened close enough, he could hear it too . . . This was the place that had formed his mate, the place that had spoken to her in gentle whispers and molded her with the tenderness of a lover, with the intimacy of a parent . . . and the profound sense of thankfulness wasn't something that he could put into words.

"What are you thinking?" she asked quietly.

He blinked and shot her a quick glance, only to find her, staring up at him with a candid expression, an underlying sense of curiosity in her velvet gaze.  "Just . . . picturing you, running over these hills, playing and laughing . . ."

She giggled.  "It made Ma so angry.  I'd be dressed with my hair done up, ready to sit with my governess, but I'd slip out through the kitchen, and all I wanted to do was to play, to roam.  I tore my dresses, got my hair tangled up in the tree branches or the long grasses . . . If I was lucky, Da would find me, and he'd play with me for a little while.  If Ma found me . . ." She made a face, but then, she laughed.  "There was one time, though . . . Ma found me, and, instead of dragging me home and scolding me for ruining my dress, she . . . She told me I was 'it', and then she ran away to hide . . . That was such a fun day . . ."

"Nora said that your mother used to love to roam and tried her best to avoid all the lessons and things that your grandmother demanded of her.  Seems like you're more like your mother than you realized . . ."

His statement made her smile, and yes, it was touched with a certain sadness.  Ashur figured that it always would, and that was all right.  She was able to smile, too, and that had to mean something, even if he didn't flatter himself into trying to believe that he had anything at all to do with it . . .

It was Jessa's kind of magic, wasn't it?  Something that she, alone, possessed . . .

Drawing to a stop on the rise of a steep hill, Ashur slipped his arms around Jessa, smiled just a little as he watched Kells, rolling around in the dried grass with Puff-Puff.  They'd taken Sesshoumaru up on his offer to use his private plane, mostly because it  made transporting the lynx much easier, and he must have pulled some strings because he'd also managed to procure an exemption for him, as well, provided that he was kept within the boundaries of Dunborough at all times.

Ashur cleared his throat.  "Should we go see what he's doing?"

Jessa stared at him for a long moment, then slowly shook her head.  "No . . . I don't want to . . . I mean, you're right.  He's discovering, testing his own independence . . . I really don't need to mother him all the time, do I . . .?"

He chuckled.  "There's nothing wrong with wanting to do that," he told her.  "I . . . I never had that, and I swore that Kells would have everything I never did."

She smiled at him, leaning against him for a long moment as she gazed down at the child.  Then she sighed and took his hand, tugging him back the way they'd come.  "Before he sees us," she murmured.

Ashur nodded and let her lead him back . . .

 

* * *

 

 

Jessa tried not to glance at the clock as she slowly sipped her tea.

Nora sat down beside her, staring at her with a thoughtful frown.  Come to think of it, she'd done that a lot the last days since they'd arrived in Ireland . . . "Milady . . ."

Jessa wrinkled her nose, set her cup carefully back in the saucer.  "You're my aunt," she reminded Nora.  "I'd prefer if you addressed me commonly."

Nora's expression stated quite plainly that she wasn't about to comply, and Jessa slowly shook her head.  "How are you feeling?" Nora asked, ignoring Jessa's statement entirely.

"Feeling?" Jessa echoed with a slight shake of her head.  "Fine . . ." She sighed.  "Well, a little bloated, actually . . . But then, maybe I've been eating just a little more than usual."  She made a face and sighed.  "Do you think Ashur will still want me if I get fat?"

Nora snorted.  "That man is going to want you, no matter what, but . . ."

"Maybe I should try eating more healthy," Jessa went on.  "I didn't realize that youkai could gain weight like humans do . . ."

Nora narrowed her gaze, started to open her mouth, but snapped it closed when Kells dashed through the door with a cold gust of wind and Puff-Puff on his heels.  Cheeks a rosy, cherry red from being outside all day, eyes bright below the bright blue sock cap that covered his head, matching mittens dangling from the string that connected them, he quickly levered off his shoes and straightened them under the bench next to the door before bouncing over to hug Jessa.

Jessa giggled, grasping the zipper pull and tugging it down before helping him take off his coat while he yanked off the sock cap and tossed it onto the table.  "Did you have a good time?" she asked, laying the garment over the back of a chair.  She offered him a blueberry scone that he grabbed and started to cram it into his mouth until Nora cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow.  Then he giggled and bit off the point instead.

"Yeah!" he exclaimed, climbing into the seat next to Jessa as Nora got up to fill a cup with milk for him.  "Puff-Puff and me followed the stream an' then we found an empty bird nest an' a hole but nothin' came out of the hole . . ."

"And I suppose you're going to go back out to explore more tomorrow?"

He nodded.  "Thanks!" he said as Nora set a glass of milk on the table before him.  Then he turned back to face Jessa once more.  "Yeah, but my friend said he won't be here tomorrow . . ."

Jessa frowned, leaning in to sniff at the boy, but nothing smelled off . . . "What friend?" she asked carefully.

Kells didn't seem to notice Jessa's alarm, and he reached for another scone.  "He said his name is Niall," he said.  "He was really tall like Daddy . . . but he had red hair like you!"

Eyes widening at the name that Kells had so casually tossed out there, Jessa shook her head.  "Kells—"

"He lit the torches!" Kells went on as though he hadn't heard Jessa at all.  "An' then, we played hide an' seek!  It was fun!  But he talked kind of funny, so I couldn't understand everything he said . . ."

"Niall, you said . . .?"

Kells nodded, peering at her over the rim of the glass.  "He gave me his fire."

Shaking her head, Jessa couldn't quite grasp just what the boy was saying.  It . . . It wasn't possible, was it?  Niall . . . ' _Da . . ._ '

"He said I gotta protect Aine."

"Aine?"

Nodding again, Kells let the glass thump on the table so that he could reach over, pressing his tiny hand against Jessa's belly.  "Yeah!  My sister!"

Jessa's brain seemed to freeze as she struggled to make sense of what Kells had just said.  "But I'm no'—"

"Um . . . surprise?" Ashur murmured, striding into the kitchen and pausing long enough to kiss her cheek before ruffling Kells' hair and filling a mug with tea.

"What?"

He chuckled.  "I thought you'd have figured it out long before now," he told her.  "I've been waiting . . ."

She digested that for a long moment, still not quite able to fully comprehend just what she'd been told by Kells or by Ashur . . . "I'm . . . pregnant . . .?"

Ashur nodded.  "So, you . . . met your grandfather, Kells?"

"He was my grandpa?" Kells squealed happily.

Ashur chuckled.  "Sounds like it.  He wants you to protect your sister—that's what he said?"

"Yeah, that's why he gave me his fire."

Jessa blinked when Kells held up his necklace, and she slowly reached out, lifted it in her hand—the pendant she'd made for him, and, while her flames still burned merrily within the crystal orb, there were more flames in there, as well—flames that were just a little redder, a little brighter—and entirely familiar to her.  She could feel the aura of them, even through the orb as her vision blurred, as her nose prickled.  "Da . . ."

"His flames?" Ashur asked quietly, leaning in to get a better look at the pendant.

Jessa nodded, unable to speak, holding the orb in one hand, pressing the other against her belly.

Ashur sighed.  "Are those happy tears?"

She sniffled, nodding as her face crumpled, as he sighed and pulled her into his lap, against his shoulder, letting her cry, at least, for the moment, as he held her close and smiled, just a little . . .

"I'm going to be a big brother!" Kells suddenly exclaimed.

Ashur chuckled as Jessa choked out a sobbing laugh.  "Yes, you are."

Kells sat up on his knees.  "Tomorrow?"

"No . . . In about . . . seven and a half months," he said.

Jessa sniffled and sat up, frowning at Ashur.  "I've been pregnant for that long?"

He shrugged.  "Yeah, I thought you'd figure it out sooner, too."

She wrinkled her nose, but smiled, her eyes still bright from her tears.  "A baby . . ."

"Aine," Kells repeated.

"Why Aine?" Ashur asked.

Kells giggled.  "Gwampa Niall said her name is Aine."

Ashur shrugged.  "Well, I guess that's that."

Jessa laughed.  "I guess it is . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_GENERAL NOTE: PLEASE READ_** _…  
> _ _There are two chapters left of this story (the last chapter and the Epilogue).  I will post both of those for Friday, however, then I shall take the next week off for Thanksgiving.  I will resume posting for Monday, November 27, something new (I think).  Now, I may or may not post something during next week.  It all depends on what I have going on, but I will DEFINITELY resume posting again on the 27th, so please do look for me then!  Have a blessed Thanksgiving, and feel free to show me some love_! 
> 
>  ** _Aine:_** _(awn-ya) Celtic name meaning 'fire' or 'joy'.  Also can mean brilliance, radiance, splendor_.
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _MMorg  
> _** Goldeninugoddess
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _AO3  
> _** Monsterkittie ——— minthegreen ——— Amanda+Gauger
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Forum  
> _** Lianned88
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Jessa_** :  
>  _Aine …_


	88. Metempsychosis

"Daddy!"

Ashur didn't open his eyes.

"Da-a-addy!"

Jessa giggled.

"He smells fear, Jessa," he murmured into her ear, which only made her giggle harder.  "Ignore him, and he'll let us sleep in a little longer . . ."

"But Daddy!  It's Christmas!  There're presents!  _Da-a-a-a-addy!_ "  Grabbing the heavy duvet, he gave a mighty tug.  Puff-Puff grabbed on beside Kells and yanked, too.  "C'mon, Daddy!  C'mon, Mommy!  Santa found us!"

Letting out a deep breath, Ashur gave up when Jessa squirmed free and reached for her robe.  "Come on, sleepy head," she said.  "Kells wants his gifts!"

Ashur grumbled something unintelligible but swung his legs off the bed and stood up.  "Go on down, Kells," he said.  "Just your stocking until your mom and I get down there."

The boy squealed in excitement and took off with the lynx hot on his heels.

"You can't be grumpy on Christmas," she told him.

Stifling a wide yawn, Ashur shook his head.  "This wouldn't be an issue if you hadn't kept me up all night, Jessa," he pointed out.

She blushed as she tied the robe closed and reached for her hairbrush that lay on her nightstand.  "That wasna my fault, ye ken . . . It's because I'm pregnant . . ."

He snorted but grinned as he took the brush from her and gently ran it through her hair.  "Excuses, excuses," he teased.

She turned her head to kiss him on the cheek.  "Are you going downstairs like that?"

He sighed again, handing her back the brush so that he could grab a pair of pants and a shirt from the wardrobe.  "I thought I'd wait for you to go after Kells, then I'd just slip back in bed," he said, only half-teasing.

Jessa rolled her eyes, turning from side to side as she examined her profile in the standing mirror.  "Do you think I'm showing yet?"

Pausing as he pulled up his slacks, he grunted.  "Nope."

She made a face.  "Maybe a little . . ."

"Not even slightly."

She heaved a sigh.

"Come on," he said, taking her hand and tugging her toward the door.  "You think Nora has some coffee on yet?"

"Maybe . . ."

"Hopefully."

She giggled.  "Ashur?"

"Hmm?"

"Next Christmas, we'll have two babies . . ."

He spared a moment to smile at her.  "We will."

She sighed dreamily as she followed him down the stairs.  "Aine . . ."

"You know, just because your father chose that name doesn't mean we have to use it," he told her.

She snorted.  "You cannot deny a dead man," she countered.  "It's bad form."

He chuckled, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to kiss her.  "All right.  You win."

She gazed up at him, her smile still lingering in her eyes.  Slowly, though, that smile faded as she bit her lip.

He grimaced inwardly.  "Don't worry, Jessa.  We'll protect her."

Jessa tried to smile.  It didn't really reach her eyes.  "You're sure we can?  A phoenix . . ."

"I told you, right?  I already talked to Cain and the others—even Sesshoumaru.  They're going to help us."

She didn't look convinced.  "But . . . What if she's not?  What if . . .?  What if Nora's wrong?  It's possible, isn't it?  That she's mistaken?"

"Even if she isn't," he assured her, "it'll be okay, I promise.  You trust me?"

She stared at him for another long moment, but she finally nodded, and, just for a breath, she remembered that time when he'd asked her that same question—and the idea that she hadn't been able to answer him; not back then . . . "I do," she said.

He touched her cheek.  "Good."

A crash of something echoed out of the great hall, and Jessa grimaced.  "You don't think that was the aquarium we bought for his room, do you?" she asked.

Ashur groaned, but turned on his heel to investigate the noise.

 

* * *

 

 

Ashur stepped into the solar, immediately spotting Jessa, drowsing on a delicate, ivory brocade chaise lounge chair with Kells wrapped in her arms and Puff-Puff curled up at their feet, and he smiled.

Luckily, Kells had only dropped a box on the tempered glass topped coffee table, so nothing had broken, thankfully.  He'd had to field a couple phone calls—one from Ben just wishing them a merry Christmas, and one from Devlin about a case he was looking into.  Then he'd gotten waylaid by Nora, who wanted to know where they wanted to take tea since dinner wouldn't actually be ready for awhile longer.

Retrieving a blanket off the back of a nearby chair, he carefully tucked it around his snoozing family, sparing a moment to stare at them, smiling softly as he played with her hair, so vibrant, so bright . . . Kells looked so content, just to be near her, and Ashur chuckled quietly to himself.  Why wouldn't he be?  Ashur quite liked to be close to her, too, so he couldn't fault the child for that, either . . .

Glancing over at the bank of windows, he was surprised to see the fat, white flakes drifting down from the sky.  Jessa had said that it didn't actually snow here very much, and usually didn't ever until at least mid-January.  He didn't know if it would stick or not, but he'd take it, either way.

It was kind of a Christmas miracle, wasn't it?

' _Getting awfully sappy in your thoughts lately, aren't you, Ashur?_ '

' _Ashur?  Since when do you call me, 'Ashur'?_ '

His youkai-voice grunted.  ' _You weren't Ashur before.  You were trying, sure, but you were still stuck in the mire of Muira Kyouhei.  You were still Kyouhei._ '

' _What does that mean?_ '

' _She saved you—changed you—reminded you that life could be beautiful . . . Then again, maybe she didn't remind you.  Maybe you really never realized it on your own.  Maybe she taught you about the beauty of life.  Isn't that why you chose that name?  You became Ash—you burnt those bridges a long time ago, but you didn't become Ashur until you met her—She's your new beginning, and . . . and it's about damn time._ '

' _About damn time . . ._ '

It was true, wasn't it?  On that day so long ago—the day he'd chosen the only real path he had—he'd let go of a part of himself, had given a part of his soul to Kells without so much as a second thought, and he never had regretted that.  He still didn't.  But it had left a void in him; something he had no idea how to fill.

But Jessa . . .

It wasn't about filling that void, was it?  Because she'd given him a part of herself, and that's what had completed him, only she'd done it so quietly, so gently, that he hadn't even realized it . . .

' _Metempsychosis.  That's what they call it._ '

' _Metempsychosis . . . The transmigration of the soul . . ._ '  He nodded.  ' _So, you're saying that I've finally earned the right to be Ashur . . ._ '

' _Something like that.  Besides . . ._ '

' _Besides?_ '

' _She . . . She was well worth waiting for, don't you think?_ '

His smile widened, savoring the feeling of complete freedom—a freedom he hadn't felt in so very long—until Jessa.  His youkai-voice wanted to know if she was worth waiting for . . .

Yes, she most definitely was.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Metempsychosis:_** _the transmigration of the soul, especially the passage of the soul after death from a human or animal to some other human or animal body_.
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _Christmas_ …


	89. Epilogue: Aine

~ _21\. August, 2081_ ~

 

~ ** _o_** ~

 

"Da!"

Ashur chuckled as he stepped outside onto the veranda of the place that he called home, kneeling down and opening his arms as the tiny girl with her mother's glorious auburn hair with flashes of flame and the huge, reddish-brown eyes, and the flawless, alabaster skin, bounded through the grass with Puff-Puff fast on her heels.  Wrapped up in yards of ivory lace and ribbons and bows—Jessa had told him this morning that he'd dressed her in an outfit entirely useless for playing outside, and he'd felt it necessary to tell her that it didn't matter; he was more than happy to buy her as many clothes as she destroyed—she skittered over the slate stones, feet barely whispering as she seemed to float right over them, and threw herself into her father's waiting arms.  "Did you miss me?" he asked, holding her close, savoring the scent of her as she planted a dozen little kisses on his cheek.

She nodded and giggled, the adorable little dimple in her cheek absolutely enchanting him as he stood up slowly, cuddling her against his shoulder.  "Mummy's hiding," she said in a very loud whisper.

He smiled.  "Is that right?  Do you know where she is?"

Aine's smile widened, dimple deepening, eyes positively glowing as she leaned back and turned her back in an almost bashful kind of way.  "I can't tell you, Da!  She's _hiding!_ We gotta find her!"

Laughing softly, Ashur started forward, and she was content to cuddle against his shoulder.  "Is Kells hiding, too?"

She nodded, slipping her thumb into her mouth—something Jessa had been working on getting her to stop, but that Ashur . . . Well, he actually thought it was cute.  Her last attempt was in painting Aine's nails, hoping that she'd like it so much that it might dissuade her from sucking her thumb.  It didn't work, and instead, Jessa had worried that the nail polish might have hurt Aine, instead.

"So, Mommy and Kells are both hiding, which means that you're It, but you came to look for me, instead?"

She nodded again, and Ashur chuckled.  "Then I guess we'd better find them.  Why don't you go find Kells, and I'll look for Mommy?"

Aine considered that for a moment, then she giggled.  "Okay!"

He set her back on her feet, smiling to himself as he watched her take off with Puff-Puff beside her.

' _She's close,_ ' he thought, stretching out his youki, grin widening when Jessa's purposefully brushed against his.

He didn't bother to try to sneak up on her, and, given that she knew he was there, it would have been pointless, anyway.  She was hunkered down behind a large boulder, and she laughed softly when he dropped down beside her in the grass.

"How was your meeting?" she asked quietly after she gave him a quick kiss.

"Boring as hell," he admitted, which was absolutely the truth.  "I'm glad to be home."

Letting him pull her back against his chest, Jessa sighed, savoring the quiet moment before the children found them.  "Kells has a girlfriend."

Ashur blinked.  "What?"

She nodded.  "A cute little girl in his class named Paisley—a mink-youkai.  Very, very adorable."

He snorted.  "Is she a hussy?"

Jessa rolled her eyes and shoved at him with her shoulder.  "She's seven years old!"

"That's what I mean!  Kind of early for her to be so forward with boys, don't you think?"

Jessa shook her head.  "You be nice.  Besides, she came home with him today, and her mum said she'd come around five to pick her up."

"Five?  And just what do we know about this girl?  Or about her parents?  What if they're downtown, hanging out on some corner, begging for cash?  Or worse?  What if they're drug traffickers?  What if they're wanted by the government here _and_ in the States?"

"Now you're just being silly," she told him.  "They're seven!"

He grunted since she very obviously wasn't taking his concerns seriously.  "What if they stuff her backpack full of illicit goods for her to sell on the playground at recess?  Stolen Oreos?  Fruit pies?  Ding Dongs?  Ho-Hos?  It's an issue, Jessa."

She opened her mouth to tell him just how weird she thought he was being, but the high pitched, outraged cry that echoed in the air interrupted her as she hopped up, brushing off her rear end as she took off without bothering to wait for Ashur, who was right on her heels.

Stopping short when Jessa gasped, her eyes flashing wide as her hands shot up to cover her mouth, Ashur glanced at her before he finally spotted what she'd seen: Aine, standing over her older brother and Paisley, her indignant outrage spiking in her aura, but that wasn't what stooped her, no . . .

The very distinct, wholly stunning and yet entirely horrifying sight of wings of flame, emerging from his three-year-old daughter's back . . . _'The . . . The phoenix . . ._ ' Ashur grimaced and sprinted forward once more.  "Aine?  Aine . . ."

The tiny girl choked out a sob and smashed her fists over her eyes as Ashur carefully scooped her up, ignoring the burn of the flame wings against his arm as he glanced down at Kells.  "What happened?"

To his surprise, Kells' cheeks shot up in a livid blush as he stubbornly refused to meet Ashur's gaze.

"Aine?  _A chroi_ . . . What's the matter?" Jessa crooned, reaching to take her daughter before Aine inadvertently set her father on fire.  Jessa also managed to draw the flames in, away, absorbing them without a second thought as the wings dissipated, as she shot Ashur a worried look.

Aine sniffled and pointed back at her brother—or maybe at Paisley, Ashur wasn't sure.  She didn't lift her face from her mother's shoulder.  "She was kissing him, but he's _mine!_   _My_ brudder!" the tiny girl whimpered.

Ashur snapped his mouth closed as Kells slowly stood, backing up a step with Paisley behind him.  "Kissing, Kells?"

The boy made a face.  "You kiss Mom _all_ the time," he pointed out.

Ashur snorted.  "You're _seven_ ," he pointed out, as though that were the ultimate answer to everything.

"Da-a-a-ad," he half-groaned, half-hissed.

Ashur shook his head.  "It's almost five, anyway," he said.  "Her mom's picking her up at five, right?"  When Kells didn't answer, Ashur gestured at the house.  "Take her inside and show her to the bathroom so she can clean up before her mother gets here," he said.

Seeing no way around it, Kells mumbled that Paisley ought to follow him, and Ashur watched the two hurry away.

"You're terrible," Jessa remarked, standing beside him, turning to watch the children's hasty retreat.

Ashur slowly broke into a smile as he reached over to pluck Aine out of her mother's arms.  "Yeah, but seven is a little young, I think . . . I'd rather that he stay a little boy just a little while longer."

She considered that and sighed.  "I . . . I think you're right . . ." she finally agreed.  "Maybe eight would be better . . ."

He snorted, kissing Aine's downy head.  "Don't worry, sweetness," he told her.  "I'm still yours . . . Is that okay?"

Aine sniffled and drew a tumultuous breath, nostrils still quivering, tears lingering in her eyes.  "My da," she said.

He nodded, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers.  "That's right . . ."

"And what about me?" Jessa asked, slipping an arm around Ashur's waist.

Aine seemed to think about that, and then she leaned over to rest her forehead against Jessa's.  "My Mummy!"

Jessa kissed her cheek, and Aine plopped her temple against her father's shoulder.  "It's . . . It's true then, isn't it?" Jessa asked quietly.

Ashur didn't need to ask for clarification, and he winced inwardly as the image of Aine and her wings of flame flared to life in his head.  "Looks like it."

Jessa nodded, taking his free hand, pulling him along as she headed toward the house, too.  "You'll keep her safe, though— _We'll_ keep her safe."

He didn't respond to that.  He hadn't realized that he'd been hoping the entire time that it would turn out, not to be true.  Then again, it didn't matter.  Whether or not she was the feared embodiment of a legend, she was still his daughter, and he'd protect her, just like he'd protect Jessa and Kells . . .

"Ashur?"

Shaking off his rather glum thoughts, he forced a vague smile for Jessa's benefit.  "Hmm?"

She sighed.  "They're pretty, though, aren't they?  Her wings . . .?"

He stared at her for several moments, and then he nodded.  She . . . She really wasn't afraid because she trusted him to keep their daughter safe . . . Jessa knew the truth, understood just how delicate the whole situation was, and yet, she was unwilling to compromise on her child's  chance to live a complete and full life, just like anyone else, simply because the unknown might well be frightening.  Jessa understood it, maybe better than anyone else, and that was okay, too . . . She'd lived through her own kind of trials, her own questions and her own fears—and so had he.  They'd brought the two of them together, and now . . .

He smiled for real, drawing strength from her quiet confidence.  "Yeah," he agreed at last, giving her hand a little squeeze as the sound of Aine's even and steady breathing filled his ears.  "Yeah . . . They are . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

~ ** _The End_** ~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_11\. October 2017_

_6:36 p.m_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_A chroí_** _: (uh Khree) "my heart".  Gaelic_.
> 
> == **_== == == == == == == ==_** ==
> 
> _Well, there you have it!  Done.  Finished.  Hopefully, all wrapped up in a nice bow!  Okay, yes, if you see the footer end note, then you know this story was actually done over a month ago.  It seems like time flies!  But I wanted to say thank you to a few folks.  Firstly, to Jessa and Ashur, Ben and Charity.  What?  They're fictional?  Oh … Oh, I suppose they are.  However, they gave me back something I so desperately needed: the drive to write creatively again._
> 
> _Thanks also to my beta, Greta, who has stuck with me through a lot.  She didn't actually beta a lot of this story because she was so busy with "life" … But she knows (I hope) that I still treasure and adore her._
> 
> _Thanks to everyone who read this.  Thanks ESPECIALLY to those who took a moment to comment.  I don't get paid for this.  Letting me know you're reading?  It IS a big deal (a HUGE deal) to me.  Thank you more than you know!_
> 
> _And an extra special thanks to four girls who make my day to day life better: Sabrina (WhisperingWolf, and if you haven't read her shit, you NEED to …), Jenn (Gin_Hayashi85 and all the munchkins in your munchkin army), Mar (who has too freaking many usernames to list, but most recently, Athena_Evarinya and your puppy-powered-pint-sized-puppies), and Christie (inuyoukaimama just because you make me LOL).  I don't know if they know it, but having them in my cheering section gave me the encouragement to write more, to write better.  To write, period._
> 
> _So, I'm taking next week off (though you know me… sometimes I post when I'm supposed to be "gone".  No promises, though!) … I will resume posting for Monday, November 27th, so please do look for me then!  Have a blessed Thanksgiving, y'all!  Much love from me to you!_
> 
> ~ _Sue_
> 
> ==========
> 
>  ** _Final_** _**Thought** **from**_ **_Ashur_** :  
>  _The phoenix_ …

**Author's Note:**

>  _Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in **Metempsychosis** ):  I do not claim any rights to **InuYasha** or the characters associated with the anime/manga.  Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al.  I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize_.
> 
> ~ _Sue_ ~


End file.
